





























* A % S A ,o 

aN t 0 N C , I'o ' * * ' q? 

s _r<v.. <*■ O r. 


S - —' •** %'* *" ° ,..;% 

\ % / :MK° % ^ *< H 

* 




o, > 

vU' ^ /» ■ * 




-v 

%*• Y? 



.$■% 

*■ _ V 1 •& ,J L K' 


* *?/??&;, + * A o> C- V v yy ^' 1 <P v 4 -' ■» . 

'/'>%> O. -aN ^ - - Ti'^k y . '•4' .4 ~r 4 ' x .4- 

y . v, v *' >4 <P» vP - „ - 

, "o 0 X * - f.^ ^ 

o \0 c> »- i .y ^;.:-L_ r 7 _; 4 - 7 * fr - v 0o ,- y? 6 

✓ M\V\X'-.' >. X ^ , i # *» LL 1/1 % J 5 ^ 

^ 0 O CL *• \ \L cp / * ' ^ O i- 

> • “ N /*>*.,.% "”* v> v >• b *’r° 1/.,../% * 

U “ ■■ ° ^ 

<0 <b 

.-.V b> 


% A 

V V 


,^ v *- 


'\ X> 9y 





> /W ^ <?> - % ^ ^ 4 

v '/ , s s 4O <7 *o*^+ A 

c 0 0 4- ? 0 0 * * 1 1 8 * <57 / ' 

=> f O fj .V -i ’i> 



y ■>* V 

« o 0 N 



4 - r 

■e. 4^ , V ,v n? * > 

« 4 ,4 W ' V; ^ \V X * t- -V 

* <xV <a, 

•f T* a\ V. 



^ ^ c y + ■ x • 

£ c 0 N C ♦ -/ b ' " * S o^\ * V ‘ • * ^ ' 0 * a\ A 

c° *' 


•y' <>- y 

* • O 0 ' 


* 77 ’*/* 





s'i 


^°°<. 






,\^ y 

✓ 

O 7 / 

, 0 N C- 't' . J * a S 

" 7 , 9 -=- o u * 

4 -f, 

y ^ 

❖ ^ , 
»m‘ V ' tr 


* u- ' V> s- 7 ^ -> 

^47 % /- * ^ t •« 







-< 

9 N « <. 0 ' 9,* *■ 8 

. \ # fk ’ / * 

a 9 'f - 1 o 

4 ^ a/\ w 6 r Ai ^ V' 

o </* 
* xS 

9 >' % \ 

■ 0 , t V"^V v 

-j <£. A' v <> f >r »v 

' “f* ,1 O 9 c-C^Vv * ■*} rv' \ 

■ 3*4 A\ ^ -''* - ■ ^k. ^ X* 

■*b o’* 

•» - ^ 4 r c \i> 

-0 ' Cl ■ '• ‘ ^ ^ 


* <V 



no ’. A 0 



/* ,\V' 

ip <\ > 








Z / 



















v .v ® ,\V 

.Yr a, ,\v «/» 







ry S 'Afc V 

O *, v s j 

Y ft <r s *i 

> # /0 f\V* 





- s?5 ^ 


* v> ^ mv 

> ,v * • * , 

'° ' I « X. ^ 7 0 * k a\ X 0 N ,, . 

< ^ K : >; ^ <0i 


r % '. ■ 

O, - S s 

</* * a a s 




^ap"’ A^ v '"*> " * •» M o ^ ^ 

V sS !rl 7/ ' ^ * ' 1 C 

' <* A* ^ „<S^„ V *> 

* V -v ^ 

S as 





G° 




o O' 



/*0‘ , 


>0 



** v, \.\^, 

V ' v*" '' >^'0 '**' .O^S*' 

1^ * * o o * 



❖ ^ 

'- ^ t~ '" \ ' r£* 

% " 9 " U \> 
v +* & - 
/ 




oS V*. 


« ^ A 

* r ^V Jl\ <<. 

t r : <|f 

++ i 

V'T;/;;v/ _ '. 

<y s t 0 ^ C‘ ■ V.. s v * 

^ - - « -p v ^ oj&vt > Jfe & , ✓ A^ *. ^ c 


x* % 


V P ,^ N 



JL ^ ' V 

A\ N C 0 N C « 





c V> % ° W i 

* <>» <■• U ‘ . - -o, U 

^ ^.v - a «S p< A 

'**'■ >° A'*, ,0 0 N e 

"o 0 X » ^ ^ 

-% %wh-* ° f 0 -* 

a' c^ r > r>0 CX. <- ‘ 



^ / ' -i, 

O * , ■ 

‘ ft i S 




0 o 


t- A. x 0.‘ 

\G s , , 

v x 


X « ^ 5 N 0 ' Jv U 

^ ^ A 0‘ N?. ^ 

V ^ , A x\ ^ 


1 ^ *<> 

^r> 0 

* - Z 

$p ^ ■ «ei® * ^ 

-i r p s v a' 

i % A „ r * s s aG 

>‘.‘^v% J 

G • > bo ,: . 

a- r. tlpr^t >■ 

6- ^ , %.G, s> v «<• 

<■ ^0 o_ *> 



* ^ c,' 

;: v 


-A 


A<. 




* «3 C i (p 

^ . O - 






* wy/# s- v ^ 

* ” ' V V Oirfj > .A ^ I *..“'. % 



* V 

‘ ^ ^ M " " \^ V 


























Captain Peggie 



By ANGELA BRAZIL 


The Head Girl At The Gables 
A Harum Scarum School Girl 
The Princess of the School 
A Popular School Girl 
The Luckiest Girl in the School 
The Madcap of the School 
The JOLLipsT School of All 
Marjorie’s Best Year 
Schoolgirl Kitty 
Captain Peggie 



Captain Peggie 


BY 

ANGELA BRAZIL 

ILLUSTRATED 



NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
MCMXXIV 







-y>> 


Copyright, 1924, by 
Frederick A. Stokes Company 


All rights reserved 

v 


Printed in the United States of America 


FEB 2! 1925 

* © Cl A 8 2 315'2 

'W 0 \ 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER p AGE 

I. The New Captain. 1 

II. Enter Louise.15 

III. A Little Madam.28 

IV. The Mascot.42 

V. Humble Pie.55 

VI. Deputy Helen.68 

VII. The School Parliament.83 

VIII. Home-Made Drama.96 

IX. Just For Fun.114 

X. An Adventure in the Snow . . . 128 

XI. Louise Explores.144 

XII. A Lantern Conference.161 

XIII. A School Mystery.176 

XIV. Royalty.184 

XV. A S'HROVE Tuesday Party .... 197 

XVI. Fortunate Pilgrims.210 

XVII. The Quest of Culture.224 

XVIII. Venetian Waters.238 

XIX. The Wet Saturday Club .... 252 

XX. The School Makes Hay .... 267 

XXI. Cycles and Flowers.282 

XXII. Peggie's Big Score.294 




























ILLUSTRATIONS 


“From Bronte”. Frontispiece 

Facing 

Page 

The Stolen Mascot.50 

“Nora” and “Kenneth”.110 

“Always Bronte First?”.174 

A Few Brief Words.* . . 208 

Under the Arches of St. Mark's .... 244 










Captain Peggie 







♦ 



4 













CAPTAIN PEGGIE 


CHAPTER I 

The New Captain 

It was a rather damp, drizzling afternoon in mid- 
September. Three mud-splashed motor-buses from the 
station—piled outside with handbags and hockey sticks, 
and filled inside to overflowing with an assortment of 
what is generally termed the “fair sex”—had steered 
with many hootings between a pair of great iron gates, 
and had drawn up on a gravel sweep in front of a large 
building. There, with what speed they might, they were 
unloading cargo. A passing stranger, watching the 
event, might have been instantly reassured on one 
point: this was certainly not an Institution for the 
Deaf and Dumb! On the contrary, the arrival recalled 
the cheerful chatter of swallows in migration, the flutter 
of linnets in a field of thistle-down, the buzz of bees 
about to swarm, or any other of the sounds and signals 
by which Mother Nature marks an exodus. At a dis¬ 
tance the undulating rise and fall of voices was like 
waves breaking on a seashore, but at close quarters 
they resolved themselves into speech. 

1 


2 Captain Peggie 

“Connie! Hello, old sport! Why didn’t you come 
in our bus?” 

“Tried, but you were full up, and you slammed the 
door on me yourself!” 

“Esme! That’s never you? Why, you’ve bobbed 
your hair!” 

“Look at Susie with a pigtail!” 

“Winnie says she’s left her bag in the train!” 

“Rubbish! I took it out myself!” 

“Well, she can’t find it anyhow.” 

“It’s there, for I saw it.” 

“Did you have jolly hols?” 

“Absolutely ripping, thanks.” 

“I’ve broken my thermos flask, and it’s soaked every¬ 
thing in my bag.” 

“Oh, poor you!” 

“Did you have tea on the train? Wasn’t the cake 
horrid ?” 

“I never risked it. I stuck to the raspberry jam.” 

“I nearly missed you all at the junction. I’d got 
into a wrong carriage.” 

“Well, you’re here now, at any rate.” 

“Isn’t Esme a scream?” 

“Oh, you haven’t seen Flossie yet!” 

“Girls! Girls! Silence!” interrupted a strong dig¬ 
nified voice. “Register yourselves at the office, take 
your handbags and go to your own houses. In order 
now! Seniors first. No pushing. Middle school wait 
over there. Juniors this way.” 

At the note of authority the chattering subsided from 
storm to calm. One by one the brown-clad damsels 


3 


The New Captain 

gave in their names to a teacher armed with a long 
alphabetical list of pupils, and were duly checked off; 
one by one they claimed their handbags, then in little 
groups they started off from the central buildings across 
the gardens or over the playing fields to their respective 
hostels. 

It was the first day of the autumn term of a new 
school year, but Peggie Paget, with whose fortunes 
this book is particularly concerned, was no newcomer 
to Somerton Park. She had already spent three years 
in her hostel, and a previous year in the Preparatory 
Department, and was very much at home indeed in all 
the inner workings of the college. She was a neatly 
made, alert-looking girl of fifteen, with a nice straight 
little nose, a self-controlled mouth, a pretty complexion, 
light blue eyes, and plentiful hair of a shade that might 
best be described as flaxen turning into brown. She 
put up her umbrella as she walked along the dripping 
avenue, sheltering herself and a companion from a 
shower bath of rain and falling rose petals. 

“Too bad to baptize us just as we arrive!” she 
laughed. “Come closer, Connie, I can’t cover your 
hat! Those two behind must take care of themselves. 
Where’s Maisie ? I haven’t seen her yet. Is that Annie 
Hall in front, walking with Kathleen? It looks like 
her twenty-miles-to-the-gallon stride.” 

“If it’s Annie, she must be the daughter of Mephis- 
topheles, who is supposed to be the father of all fibs,” 
replied Connie curtly. “I’d a letter from the girl only 
last week, bidding a tearful good-bye before she 
started for Japan or Honolulu or somewhere. She 


4 


Captain Peggie 

oughtn’t to work on my feelings for nothing. They’re 
delicate and won’t bear the strain. I shall have to talk 
to her about it, I really shall.” 

“No need to excite yourself; it’s Doreen Webster. 
It was my mistake. But look here, is Annie really and 
truly gone? Rather sudden, isn’t it? We all thought 
she was going to be captain this year.” 

“So she would have been, only her father has ac¬ 
cepted a professorship out east and taken the whole 
family with him. It leaves a vacancy at Bronte.” 

“It does indeed. Why, Annie seemed the absolute 
‘heir apparent’. It will be Maisie now, I suppose— 
she was always ‘second best’, wasn’t she? Good old 
Maisie! She’s rather a sport on the whole.” 

“No it will not be Maisie! Her cough’s worse, and 
the doctor has sounded her chest and ordered her to 
Switzerland for the winter. I tell you, candidates are 
falling away like the ten little nigger boys. There’s 
nobody left for a captain except Helen Armstrong.” 

“Helen Armstrong! But why should she be chosen ?” 

“Because she’s the sixth Armstrong at Somerton, 
and the five others have all been captains. Miss Penrose 
thinks the world of them. And General Armstrong’s 
name comes first in the reference at the end of the 
school prospectus, with a star to show he’s ‘parent of 
present pupil’.” 

“Partly because it begins with A,” said Peggie, 
puckering up her forehead, “and the list of course is 
alphabetical. I can’t see that that?s any reason for 
making Helen a captain.” 

“Reason or no, she’s the best sporting chance of any 


5 


The New Captain 

of us in my opinion. Be careful, Pegs! You’re poking 
the umbrella in my eye! Here we are at Bronte at last, 
thank goodness. What a wet afternoon to arrive! I 
want some more tea. What I had on the train wasn’t 
nice. O hooray, I see the urn! (Good old Shepherd¬ 
ess!) I positively shan’t be more than three seconds in 
changing my shoes and my mackintosh. If you’re not 
ready, Pegs, by then, I shan’t wait for you.” 

The house into which the two girls ran was a long, 
old-fashioned building with a new wing added at either 
end. The middle part was quaint and timbered, in 
sixteenth century fashion, with black beams and stone 
balls and copings, and the modern portion had followed 
the same style of architecture in cheaper materials and 
with less picturesque results. Bronte, as it was now 
called, had the distinction of being the old original 
dwelling on the estate of Somerton Park, and though 
some of the other hostels might be more convenient, 
its members prided themselves obstinately upon being 
in residence at “the Manor”. It was the farthest off 
from the school buildings, and the nearest to the wood 
and to the farm, and its garden had a clipped yew 
hedge, and altogether in their estimation it held many 
advantages. 

Somerton College lay only a few miles from the 
town of Baddesley Wells, but once you were within 
its great gates you could imagine yourself in the depths 
of the country. There were playing fields, and grass 
lands and a home farm, and a patch of common with 
gorse and bracken, and a little pine wood, and a spinney 
with a small stream running through it, and there was 


6 


Captain Peggie 

a beautiful uninterrupted view of distant meadows and 
valley and hillside right up the Staplemere Gorge to 
Heatherley Castle. 

The college itself consisted of a large group of school 
buildings, assembly hall, classrooms, cloak-rooms, gym¬ 
nasium, art studio, library, science room, and music 
rooms, together with the residence of the head mistress 
and of some of the more advanced students, and of 
certain members of the staff. There were nine different 
hostels in various portions of the grounds, each accom¬ 
modating about twenty-five girls. They were all named 
after famous women. “Austen”, “Mitford”, and 
“Eliot”, were for seniors over sixteen; “Bronte”, 
“Gaskell”, “Nightingale”, and “Caved” held the middle 
school; while “Alcott” and “Greenaway” were pre¬ 
paratory houses for juniors under twelve. 

According to an old established tradition of the 
school each hostel had its own captain, whose position 
was somewhat similar to that of a head prefect. She 
was appointed annually, and was supposed to be 
responsible for the general welfare and success of her 
house. She took the chair at committees, organized 
entertainments, urged her comrades to obtain distinc¬ 
tions, and indeed acted as a mixture of shepherd and 
sheep dog, sometimes leading her flock and sometimes 
driving them by sheer force of “bark and bite”. The 
appointment of a captain lay in the hands of the house 
mistress, with the head mistress as referee, and was a 
decision of some importance, for on the type of girl 
who was chosen for the office would largely depend the 
tone of the hostel for the coming year. Naturally the 


7 


The New Captain 

matter meant much to those who were immediately 
concerned. The inmates of Bronte, drinking hot tea 
after their arrival in the rain, could discuss little else. 

“Girls who’ve been ear-marked as captains oughtn’t 
to be allowed to leave the school,” remarked Enid 
Wilkinson. “It’s not playing the game. I should think 
Annie feels mean.” 

“She says she’s cried quarts over it,” volunteered 
Connie Dawson. “I meant to bring her letter to read 
to you all but I forgot, I’m sure she said ‘quarts’.” 

“It doesn’t matter if she said gallons or hogsheads 
or butts. Blubbing won’t bring her back! I can forgive 
Maisie, she can’t help being ill, but Annie might have 
wangled her father and stayed if she’d liked. She’s 
let us down!” 

“Left us in the lurch!” agreed Lilian Osborne, taking 
another piece of currant bread. 

“What we ought to do is to put an advertisement 
in the school magazine,” said Dorothy Carter. “Some¬ 
thing like this would do: 

“Wanted, strong and efficient Captain to supply un¬ 
expected vacancy in very eminent house. Will be required 
to win distinctions. Broad brow for wearing laurels essen¬ 
tial, also expanse of chest to accommodate medals. Must 
be able to write a play with at least twenty-five leading 
characters in it, and must be an impartial allotter of cos¬ 
tumes. One deaf ear and one blind eye might be con¬ 
sidered advantages. Length of leg may depend on measure¬ 
ments of hockey stick, but stride must be guaranteed at 
never less than fifty thousand hop scotches to a square 
mile.” 

“Don’t try to be funny, Dorothy!” yawned Helen 


8 Captain Peggie 

Armstrong. “I’m tired, and the effort to laugh makes 
my back ache.” 

“Poor tenderfoot.” 

“Besides, when all’s said and done it isn’t we who 
choose the captain, it’s Miss Croft.” 

“What a remarkable discovery! Thank you for men¬ 
tioning it! How clever of you! We none of us had 
the slightest idea of such a thing. Had we?” 

“Oh come! If you’re ‘sarky’ I give you up!” 

“Give me up to what? Haven’t you finished tea 
yet? I’m going to settle my cubicle, and if I find any 
of your things on my bed I shall fling them on to the 
floor—so look out! Ta ta!” 

“I haven’t unpacked so much as a tooth-brush, so 
you needn’t worry,” returned Helen smartly. 

“Waiting for the captain’s room, I suppose!” was 
Dorothy’s parting shot as she ran upstairs. 

Helen did not as a rule take her companion’s jokes* 
seriously, but she flushed with annoyance at this in¬ 
sinuation, gulped the remainder of her cup of tea, fol¬ 
lowed Dorothy to Dormitory 3, and began to spread 
forth her possessions. In the corner cubicle Peggie 
was already arranging her hair for supper. All pupils 
at Somerton College were required to bring first-night 
necessaries in handbags which they carried themselves, 
leaving the vast piles of luggage to be distributed at 
the leisure of the school janitor. Often the girls did 
not get their belongings till the next morning, but this 
time they were more fortunate. Already two of the 
gardeners, with well wiped boots, were carrying boxes 


9 


The New Captain 

upstairs. The voice of Miss Sheppard, the hostel 
matron, could be heard giving directions on the landing. 

‘‘This way, please! What name on the label? Arm¬ 
strong ? Take it to No. 3. The other ? Oh, that goes 
into the little room over the porch!” 

Now the small single dormitory at the head of the 
stairs was the special domain of the hostel captain, 
and the sound of luggage being conveyed there was 
sufficient to rouse thrills in the breasts of many maidens. 
Miss Sheppard, peeping hurriedly into No. 3, ignored 
several eager, interested faces, and beckoned to Peggie 
Paget. 

“Miss Croft wants you,” she said. “Go to her at 
once. She’s in the study now, so don’t keep her wait¬ 
ing.” 

A most astonished Peggie gave a final comb to her 
hair, fixed in a slide, and fluttered from the room. 

“Salaam, O Queen!” said Dorothy Carter, with a 
mock bow as she passed her cubicle. 

“Salaam!” echoed Connie, laughingly. But Helen 
Armstrong turned her back and concentrated the whole 
of her attention upon the key of her box. 

Miss Croft’s study was a sitting-room bedroom at 
the end of the first landing. It was reminiscent of her 
Girton days. The bed resembled a divan, and was 
spread with a gorgeous eastern cover, the wardrobe 
looked like a bookcase, the walls held photographs of 
hockey teams, and there were pretty ornaments and 
vases of flowers. Miss Croft herself, still young and 
very modern, sat at a small bureau, clicking at a type¬ 
writer. She motioned Peggy to a seat, finished her 


io Captain Peggie 

paragraph, referred to a notebook, made an entry in 
a diary, then turned her chair round and began to talk. 

“It’s a difficult matter to choose a captain for Bronte. 
We had counted on Annie or Maisie. It’s a task that 
needs many qualifications. A girl ought to be some¬ 
thing in herself, and a good leader, and possessed of 
tact; able to use authority without becoming dictatorial. 
I’ve thought it over very carefully, and in the end, 
Peggie, I’ve decided on you. It’s a big charge to give 
you, but I believe I can trust you, and that you won’t 
fail me.” 

“Thank you, Miss Croft. I’ll try my best,” mur¬ 
mured Peggie, very red and embarrassed and nervous, 
and wishing she knew what she ought to say on such 
a momentous occasion. 

“You’ve been four years at the school,” continued 
Miss Croft, “so you’re no novice at Somerton ways. 
And you know Bronte inside out. What we want this 
year is somebody to pull the house together. It isn’t 
quite what it ought to be. Other hostels carry away 
the distinctions, and leave us in the lurch. We need 
to make a great spurt and show we’re capable of big 
things. There was far too much slackness here the 
last year. It’s made a bad precedent. We ought to be 
able to win laurels and do heroic deeds for Bronte and 
raise her reputation in the school. The general tone 
has fallen low, and I shall look to you to lift it up 
again. You’ve no need to go about preaching, but you 
can use your influence in the right direction. It’s be¬ 
cause I think you’ll have this influence that I’ve chosen 
you. I’ve no need to explain your duties because 


II 


The New Captain 

you know them as well as I do—the great thing is to 
carry them out. You’ll find your box in the captain’s 
room, and you can take your bag there now and un¬ 
pack. I must finish this letter before the post goes.” 

Miss Croft turned again to her typewriter and re¬ 
commenced clicking. She was experienced in the ways 
of girls, and she did not expect the new captain to 
make a speech or give any great protestations. She 
preferred to let her think matters over in quiet, so 
dismissed her with a nod, and— 

“Shut the door, please! And stop that noise on the 
landing! Tell Miss Sheppard I shall be ready to see 
her in ten minutes, and that the post-bag is not to go 
without my letters.” 

Peggie, after sending half a dozen gossiping damsels 
flying to their dormitories stepped briskly to take 
possession of her new domain. Ever since she had 
come from “Greenaway” to “Bronte” three years ago, 
the captain’s room had been the summit of her ambi¬ 
tion. The chance of ever attaining it had seemed so 
infinitely remote that it had been on a level with such 
day dreams as “If I were a princess”, or “If somebody 
left me a fortune”. To walk in and find her box there 
was like a fairy tale. The bag, and the brush and comb 
which she had left in Dormitory 3, were placed on the 
bed. So the girls knew. Miss Sheppard of course had 
told them. Were they pleased, or would they resent 
her elevation? What a buzz came from down the 
passage. Were they talking about her? 

The little room over the porch was, with the excep¬ 
tion of Miss Croft’s and Miss Sheppard’s studies, the 


12 


Captain Peggie 

only single one at Bronte. It had a wall-paper with 
a pattern of wild roses, and the furniture was enamelled 
pink. There was a small table and a basket arm-chair 
with pink cushions. A water-color sketch of the wood, 
done by a former captain, hung in a frame over the 
mantelpiece. Peggie unlocked her box and began to 
unpack her clothes and place them in the drawers. 
She did this automatically, for her whirling thoughts 
were elsewhere. She! Peggie Paget to be Captain of 
Bronte. She was hardly yet used to the idea. Captain 
Peggie! How extraordinary is sounded. What an 
utter idiot she had been when Miss Croft spoke to her. 
Never a word in reply except mumbled thanks. There 
was a big programme before her for the school year. 
Nobody knew better than herself that Bronte had fallen 
into a Slough of Despond. To raise it would indeed 
be a task needing energy. 

“I must set myself certain things,” resolved Peggie. 
“I must do something athletic and something clever, 
and something heroic. Body, brain, and soul, as Miss 
Penrose would say. I’ll play up and win a hockey 
match, and I'll write a charade for the house to act at 
Christmas, and I’ll rescue someone from drowning or 
burning or from under a motor-car. Will that satisfy 
Miss Croft? It’s what she wants, I expect. To win 
distinctions for Bronte. It’s worth doing. She must 
have thought me a stupid owl to stand stammering 
there, going as red as a beetroot. But I'll show her 
before the term’s out that I’ve taken in what she told 
me. Hello! Time’s getting on! I must hurry with 
my unpacking, or I shall be late for supper, and that 


i3 


The New Captain 

would be a nice thing for the new captain. I shall be 
glad when this first evening is over— rather!” 

To walk downstairs to the dining-room as if nothing 
had happened required courage. Dorothy, Connie, and 
a few of her friends greeted Peggie enthusiastically, 
but among others her arrival caused a dead hush. 
Manifestly the appointment was not popular in all 
quarters. Helen Armstrong averted her eyes. Enid 
Wilkinson indeed burst out into open mutiny. 

“Really, Peggie Paget, why should you be chosen 
captain, I should like to know? If anybody has a right 
to be captain it’s Helen, and I can’t think what Miss 
Croft has been doing to overlook her! Who are you 
to be put over her head?” 

“You’d better go and ask Miss Croft that!” an¬ 
swered Peggie steadily. “She’s made me captain, and 
here I am! I’m sorry if anyone else is disappointed, 
but it’s not my fault. I’ll do my best, and Bronte will 
have to put up with me.” 

“Hear! hear!” agreed Dorothy. “We certainly can’t 
all be captains, and I call it very bad taste to grouse. 
Don’t be an idiot, Enid. Ask the Shepherdess to let 
you have Peggie’s vacant cubicle in No. 3, then you’ll 
be next to Helen, and as chummy as anything. We’ll 
have more fun in our dormitory than Pegs in her soli¬ 
tary room, I’ll bet. And as for Pegs, she must hold 
her own. I for one mean to stick up for her. We 
haven’t stood by our captains much at Bronte, and 
it’s been jolly well the worse for us. If the old house 
means to score anything at all this year it must take 
a lurch forward. Salaams to Captain Peggie, and may 


14 


Captain Peggie 

she win us some distinctions. Sh! sh! Here’s the 
Shepherdess! And Miss Croft behind her. Don’t let 
them know what we’ve been talking about. --Cheer up, 
Helen, for goodness’ sake! You look as if you were at 
a funeral. What’s for supper? Fish and macaroni 
and pancakes. Oh, decent! I had two teas, but I’m so 
hungry again I could eat my serviette. Pegs, I mean to 
sit next to our new captain. I booked the place half an 
hour ago, Connie, so it’s no use your trying to push 
yourself in. Sh! Sh! Can’t you see Miss Croft is 
just going to say grace?” 


CHAPTER II 


Enter Louise 

It was a week afterwards, a whole long week, and 
Peggie sat in her captain’s room. She had arranged 
it entirely to her satisfaction; her books stood in a row 
on the shelf above the fire-place, her writing materials 
were on the small bureau, a large vase of autumn leaves 
and late flowers decorated the mantelpiece, her time¬ 
table hung on the wall, and close at hand, ready for 
pinning up when desired, were several neatly printed 
mottoes, bearing such words as “Pm busy”, “Free at 
2.30”, “Committee here at 7.45”, “Bronte before all!”, 
“The road to success is paved with hard work”. The 
hour between two o'clock and three was reserved for 
rest at Somerton Park. The girls did what they liked 
in it, they pottered about, and read, and pursued hobbies, 
or walked in the grounds. Peggie, on this particular 
afternoon, was leisurely sharpening a pencil and think¬ 
ing over a programme for the first monthly social even¬ 
ing. A peculiar rap-ta-ta-tat-tat at the door caused her 
to say “Come in!” She had a pre-arranged signal by 
which she could recognize the advent of certain chums, 
and guard herself from the unwanted. Dorothy Carter 
entered with a note addressed to “Miss Paget”. 

“It's just been sent down by Miss Penrose,” she 
15 


16 Captain Peggie 

explained. “It was enclosed in a letter for her this 
morning. Mabel Hopkins brought it, and said you 
were to have it at once. May I stay, old sport? Or 
must I take myself off?” 

‘‘Stay, by all manner of means!” acceded Peggie, 
clearing some books from a chair to make room for 
her friend, and tearing open her envelope. She read 
the communication inside twice over, with a pucker 
on her forehead, then threw it down with a rather 
vexed little laugh. 

“So Louise is coming after all! I never thought 
they’d really make up their minds. And I hoped Bronte 
would be too full! Jolly hard luck to be saddled with 
her just now; Fd rather some other captain had the 
benefit. However, if she’s coming she’s coming, and 
there’s an end of it.” 

“Who’s Louise? And why these heroics, please?” 
inquired Dorothy, offering peppermint creams. 

“Louise is my cousin. She’s lived most of her life 
in South Africa, and I never saw her before this 
summer. Her people are over from the Transvaal, 
and they decided to send her to school in England. 
They couldn’t make up their minds where, and when 
term time came they were still knee-deep in pro¬ 
spectuses, and flutering between athletics and aesthetics. 
This is what Aunt Lucy says: 

“ We have at last arranged to place Louise at Somerton 
College, and find that most fortunately there is a vacancy 
at your house, so I feel much relieved, knowing you will 
take charge of her and show her all the ways of the place’.” 


Enter Louise 


1 7 

“That's the kind of thing parents do. They can’t 
manage Louise themselves, and they dump her on to 
me as if she were some timid little saint who’d hover 
in my orbit like a piece of thistledown.” 

“She’s no saint, then?” 

“Saint! Sinner more likely! She’s simply run wild 
in Africa, and I can tell you I don’t relish the task of 
helping to tame a lion-cub. So she’s coming this after¬ 
noon. Farewell to peace then! I thought I had enough 
worries already at Bronte, without adding any more. 
Louise! Great Scott! I shall have to ask Miss 
Sheppard for a tonic! I guarantee that cousin of mine 
would wear anybody’s nerves threadbare in a fortnight. 
Thank goodness there’s no room for another bed here, 
or I believe Aunt Lucy would have petitioned for us to 
have cubicles next to one another. Don’t laugh, 
Dorothy! You ought to sympathize!” 

“So I do, but the idea of you and your lion-cub is 
rather funny. Can I fancy you in the character of 
Androcles? We shall have to present you with a dog- 
chain ! No. 3 is full so she can’t room with us. I ex¬ 
pect No. 5 will get the benefit of her. Is she a kid, by 
the way, or ‘upper middle’?” 

“Just thirteen, grown-up in some ways, and very 
babyish in others. But you’ll see for yourself quite 
soon enough, and then perhaps you’ll wish you hadn’t. 
Oh look here! This business has upset me. I can’t 
go on with my programme. Let’s have a run round 
the common and into the wood. There’s plenty of 
time before afternoon school.” 

The new-comer was not present at tea, and though 


18 Captain Peggie 

later Peggie’s sharp ears caught the thump of a box 
on the stairs, and other familiar sounds of arrival, 
there was no disturbance of the hour and a half sacred 
to preparation and to practising. It was not till after 
seven o’clock, when the girls had changed for supper, 
that the colonial cousin walked into the dining-hall at 
Bronte. 

Ring the curtain up for Louise! Turn on the foot¬ 
lights and let her make her bow to the audience. She 
was not the kind of girl to slink unnoticed into any 
room. She entered with all the empressement of one 
accustomed to play a leading part. She was well grown 
for her age, with the same pretty complexion and 
straight little nose as Peggie, to whom she bore rather 
a superficial family resemblance, but her eyes were light 
brown, flecked with darker specks—the type of eyes 
which to a physiognomist invariably betokens a quick 
temper—and her hair was a tawny chestnut color, 
rather wavy and unruly, with a bleached look, as if she 
had worn no hat throughout the summer. She marched 
confidently to her cousin, and greeted her with a grin. 

“I’ve turned up here after all, you see! It was a 
toss up between Eastbourne and Scotland. Mums 
wanted one and Dad the other, so I settled it for them 
by saying I wouldn’t go to either, and then they both 
plumped for you. I’ve had a fearful time getting ofiF. 
Is it true you’re captain of this shanty? What fun! 
If you’re wanting a lieutenant let me know. Have you 
all these hulking girls to look after? Sh! Sh! Why 
should I—Sh ? I don’t in the least mind anybody hear¬ 
ing what I say!” 


Enter Louise 


19 


“Say what you like afterwards, Lulu, but do please 
be careful now,” whispered Peggie. “I’ll go upstairs 
when supper’s over, and help you to unpack, and then 
we can talk. If you’d like to sit next to me at the table 
to-night I’m sure Dorothy would change just for once. 
I’ll ask her.” 

“Give up my place to your lion-cub? Certainly, 
Sister Androcles!” laughed Dorothy demurely, “on 
the distinct understanding that it’s not to happen again. 
You must cut its claws before to-morrow, and put it 
among the kittens, or buy a cage for it and keep it in 
the menagerie. It doesn’t look as if it altogether fits 
in Bronte yet, though it’s not a bad specimen—of its 
kind.” 

Mercifully for Peggie her young relation seemed 
slightly overawed during supper by the presence of 
Miss Croft and Miss Sheppard, and refrained alto¬ 
gether from conversation, though her wide-awake 
brown eyes evidently took in full details of her sur¬ 
roundings. When the meal was finished and the cousins 
had retired to Dormitory 5, Louise burst forth into 
questions. 

“Who’s that girl who sat opposite to me? Maggie 
Fowler! She made me think of a prawn in spectacles, 
she’s such an overboiled look, and her eyes goggle. And 
the one with the high bumpy forehead ? Mary Everett! 
She looks 'plain Mary’. The one on the far side of her 
is the sort of girl who’d call her father Papa! I shall 
like a few of them, and I shall loathe the rest. Now 
don’t screw up your mouth, Peggie! It’s so like Miss 


20 


Captain Peggie 

Greene, my governess in Africa, and she wasn't pretty. 
I always say exactly what I think about people." 

“You can say anything you like to me, in private, 
but you’ll get yourself into tremendous trouble if you 
begin giving free opinions about girls, so remember 
I’ve warned you. They’ll simply call it ‘showing off’ 
and ‘cheek’. I thought you’d too much sense, Lulu." 

Louise felt in her box, took out a packet of open hem 
pocket handkerchiefs, and with a corner of the top one 
removed an imaginary tear. 

“I guess we’d better go on with my unpacking!" she 
said, skillfully changing the subject. 

Peggie was already opening drawers and wardrobe 
to receive the contents of the trunk, but stopped in 
amazement at the armful of garments which her cousin 
was throwing on to the bed. 

“Why, Lulu! What have you got here ? Navy blue 
dress, and blue and white flannel blazer! White Jap- 
silk blouses! Black velour hat. Heavens, child! Don’t 
you know we wear nothing but brown serge and tussore 
here? Where was your list? The whole lot’s wrong!" 

It was Louise’s turn to prim up her mouth now. 

“I told Dad I was sure it was ‘brown’ at Somerton, 
but he wouldn’t believe me. He’d got all the pro¬ 
spectuses mixed up, and I expect he’d caught up the list 
of clothes from some other school. He wrote out the 
order, and sent it to Cartwright and Holt’s, along 
with the list for Roy’s clothes. He told Mums it was 
perfectly all right, and she needn’t worry." 

“It’s perfectly all wrong," fumed Peggy. “You’ll 
have to send these back to Cartwright and Holt’s and 


Enter Louise 


21 


see if they’ll exchange them. Tchk! Tchk! There 
isn’t a thing you can wear. What Miss Croft will say 
I can’t imagine! I’d better go and tell her at once, 
and ask what you must put on to-morrow. Perhaps 
she can find you a skirt and a jersey. A nice muddle 
you’ve made of it amongst you! Why didn’t you have 
a look at the list for yourself ?” 

“I wasn’t interested enough, I suppose. I didn’t 
want to go to school at all. But I did tell Dad Somerton 
was brown. It’s his own fault if he has to pay twice 
over. Shall I tell you a secret? I’ve brought Dongo, 
my meerkat with me. I smuggled him under my coat, 
and he never moved. I’ve put him inside that big 
laundry basket on the stairs, but he can’t stay there 
long. What had I better do with him ? I thought you’d 
love me to bring Dongo!” 

Embarrassing little cousin! Tiresome, exasperating 
little cousin! How was any captain to deal with her? 
When they had all stayed together at the seaside, dur¬ 
ing the summer, Peggie had indeed made much of the 
pretty little South African animal, but it was quite 
another matter to welcome it to Bronte, where pets of 
any description were strictly forbidden. Visions of a 
double dose of wrath from Miss Croft and Miss Shep¬ 
pard rose before her eyes. Louise had disappeared, and 
in another minute came back from the landing with a 
bundle of sleek fur in her arms. Peggie sighed. Her 
heart was soft to begin with, and it softened yet further 
at the sight of Dongo. She took him quietly and cuddled 
him. 


22 


Captain Peggie 

“You know he’s not allowed at school! What 
possessed you to bring him?” 

“I had to! Dad and Mums were going to London. 
What could I do with him? You wouldn’t have me 
drown him?” 

“Bless his heart, no! But surely you could have 
boarded him out somewhere, or even sent him to the 
Zoo.” 

“I never thought of that! He’d fret without me 
though and break his heart.” 

“And what do you imagine you’re going to do with 
him here ? You’re a Gubbins, Lu!” 

“I don’t know. I trust him to you. You’re captain, 
aren’t you?” 

“Yes, unfortunately I am. I suppose I ought to 
take him straight away to Miss Sheppard, and a pretty 
to-do there’d be. There was a fearful row last term 
over some newts that Betty kept in a box. They 
escaped and Miss Croft found them crawling up the 
window curtains. Between Dongo and your wrong 
clothes you’ll start your career here as the black sheep 
of Bronte. Nice thing to have you for a cousin!” 

"Cheer up! You’re going to look after Dongo! I 
know you are!” 

“I’m puzzling over a plan,” admitted Peggie. “You 
can’t keep him in your cubicle, that’s very certain! I 
might take him to my room just for to-night, then to¬ 
morrow morning, before school, we might smuggle him 
to the stables, and ask Mr. Hall to look after him. He 
might have an empty rabbit hutch or somewhere to put 
him. It’s worth trying, at any rate.” 


Enter Louise 


23 


“Oh, jolly! What a sport you are!” 

“A very bad captain. I’m afraid,” said Peggie un¬ 
easily. “Now if you like you can come to my room, 
and we’ll stow Dongo away, and then I must go to Miss 
Croft and break the news about your absurd blue 
clothes. Be prepared for squalls. I don’t believe such 
a thing has ever happened before, and she’ll be 
appalled.” 

A meerkat, even of so tame and cuddlesome a descrip¬ 
tion as Dongo, is an anxiety in one’s bedroom, especially 
when he breaks bounds and takes to exploring. Peggie 
spent a disturbed night, and by the morning was almost 
tempted to betray the burdensome secret. She went 
down early, begged some food from the cook, and fed 
her cousin’s pet, after which he fortunately went to 
sleep, and she left him curled up inside her wardrobe. 
The first available opportunity after breakfast, under 
plea of showing Louise the grounds, the two girls 
started off for the stables. Dongo, the innocent cause 
of all the trouble, was concealed under his mistress’s 
borrowed brown jersey. They ran across the playing- 
field, and took a cut through the kitchen garden between 
the rows of celery and cabbages, and tore in through 
the gate to the stables. Somerton Park made rather 
a cult of teaching riding, and four horses and two 
ponies were kept for the benefit of the pupils. They 
were looked after by Hall, a superior old coachman, 
who in his early youth had been under-groom to royalty, 
and who liked to boast that he had once held the lead¬ 
ing rein of a princess’s pony, and had followed many 
distinguished people to the hunting field. By great 


24 


Captain Peggie 

good luck Hall was discovered in the harness-room, 
and Peggie, who had received riding lessons from him, 
and was rather a favorite, put forth her plea with all 
the eloquence of which she was capable. Hall stroked 
his chin as he listened, then inspected Dongo. 

"It seems a tame enough little beast,” he commented. 
"You oughtn't to ask me, Miss Paget! You know you 
oughtn’t! But—well! There’s that empty hutch where 
my girl used to keep rabbits. You may put it there if 
you like, and I’ll look after it. There’s no need to say 
anything about it to anybody, that I can see. Take it 
away with you at Christmas. That’s all I bargain for.” 

"Thank you ten dozen times! What a trump you 
are!” exploded Louise, kissing Dongo as she pushed 
him through the door of the rabbit hutch. "I may 
come and see him? Oh, every now and then, please! 
It’s splendid to feel he’s safe here, and-” 

"Lulu, we simply must sprint!” urged Peggie. "Not 
another moment! If we don’t tear back this absolute 
second, we shall be late for school.” 

As the shortest route to the central buildings the 
cousins hurried along the back drive, and much to their 
surprise had hardly gone more than a hundred yards 
before they were overtaken and joined by Helen Arm¬ 
strong. 

"Hello!” she greeted them, "you’re a bright pair, 
aren’t you? The almighty Captain of Bronte paying 
a surreptitious visit to the stables before school! Is 
this what we teach new girls?” 

"Why shouldn’t we go?” said Peggie, bluffing the 
matter off. 



Enter Louise 


25 


“Why not? Oh, no reason at all, of course!” 
mocked Helen. “Captains needn’t keep rules like ordi¬ 
nary people. They can break bounds whenever they 
want, and take their cousins. Oh dear, yes!” 

“What are you talking about ? The stables aren’t out 
of bounds.” 

“What are you talking about? They certainly are!” 

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it!” 

“Then you must be as deaf as a post or as blind as 
a bat. Weren’t you listening when Miss Penrose gave 
it out? And didn’t you see it on the list of ‘for- 
biddens’? You of all people not to know the rules! 
Comic, I call it. We’ve got queer captains nowadays 
at the old college.” 

Peggie had flushed very pink. She remembered now 
that the Head had read aloud a fresh list of school 
bounds, but at the time her imagination had been so 
taken up with all she meant to do for Bronte that she 
had scarcely heard them, and the paper subsequently 
given her, in her official capacity, still lay on her dress¬ 
ing-table unread. It was dreadful to have to confess 
as much to Helen—Helen of all people in the world. 

“Look here! I really, honestly, didn’t know!” she 
stammered. “I’ll go through the rules again. I’ll pin 
them up in every dormitory. I’m awfully sorry about 
this—this mistake. I suppose you-” 

Helen gave her a quick sidelong glance. 

“No! Pm not going to tell anybody,” she answered. 
“But I keep my own thoughts all the same. Some day 
perhaps we’ll be quits. There’s the bell! I’ll race you 


26 Captain Peggie 

to the porch! I can run though I’m not captain of 
Bronte.” 

Peggie passed into school in a most perturbed state 
of mind. Here was she, the head of her hostel, pledged 
to raise the tone of the house and to keep order, actually 
breaking the rules, both ignorantly, by visiting a spot 
which was now out of bounds, and knowingly, by 
smuggling the meerkat into the charge of Hall. Oh! 

she ought to have taken the wretched little beast 

straight to Miss Sheppard, and have left her to deal 

with the matter. Would it be better to confess now, 
and have done with it? No! Having gone so far and 
with such success, it would surely be wiser to say 
nothing, especially as to tell would be to involve her 
cousin in trouble. Miss Sheppard had been even more 
annoyed than Miss Croft about Lulu’s clothes, and the 
girl had evidently made a bad start at the hostel. She 
would stand by her and shield her as far as she could. 
It was most unfortunate that Helen should have wit¬ 
nessed their visit to the stables. Did she guess why 
they had gone there ? Had she followed them, or was 
her arrival an accident? She was not the kind of girl 
to allow generosity to interfere with her plans. Could 
her word be trusted ? 

But the necessity of concentrating her mind on 
mathematics temporarily banished Peggie’s immediate 
worries, and it was not till the eleven o’clock interval 
that she was able to refer to them again. While she 
ate her biscuits she sought out Louise. 

“You’ve got me into a horrible scrape!” she began. 


Enter Louise 


27 


“I say, Lu, you’ll have to behave yourself at Bronte 
if you don’t want to disgrace the family/’ 

“Oh, it’s not as bad as all that! I always get out 
of scrapes somehow!” said Louise easily. 

“Listen to me, and do take it seriously! Can’t you 
realize that I’m captain of Bronte, and that I’m bound 
to make people keep rules? It’s a tremendous trust 
to be captain. Have you no sense of honor? Don’t 
you see I’m responsible for all that goes on ?” 

“Now you’re getting cross!” 

“No, I’m not cross, only, Lu, I do want you to help 
and not hinder me at Bronte. I didn’t know I was 
taking you out of bounds this morning. If I’d known 
I shouldn’t have gone to the stables. You must promise 
me never to go there again!” 

Louise pursed her mouth into a round button. Her 
brown eyes were enigmas. 

“Bow wow!” she said at last. “My promises are 
always pie crust, so what’s the use of making them? 
Be a sport, Pegs, and there’s one thing I’ll promise 
at any rate—if I ever find you in a very big hole, I’ll 
do my level best to get you out again, and that’s that.” 


CHAPTER III 


A Little Madam 

Captain Peggie, sitting in the solitude of her study- 
bedroom decided that if everybody has a thorn in the 
flesh sent for disciplinary purposes, hers was certainly 
Louise. Her irrepressible young cousin seemed for 
the present almost devoid of a conscience; if you spoke 
about honor, she stared—if you scolded she laughed. 
What were you to do with such a girl? Apparently 
she cared for nothing but her own ideas 'of fun, and 
was as empty hearted as an elf or a pixy. And yet— 
and yet—Peggie turned again to the letter from her 
mother that lay on her knee. 

“So little Wildfire is at Somerton after all! It’s the best 
thing possible for her. I am glad she is in your house, 
because I think you’re one of the few people who can 
influence her. I believe she is really fond of you, and you’ll 
help to make something of her in the end.” 

“Fond of me!” groaned Peggie. “It’s a queer sort 
of affection then. Anyhow she’s my cousin, and she’s 
here—very much here. I suppose it’s what is called an 
opportunity. Oh, I feel more like a missionary than 
captain of Bronte! There ought to be a reformatory for 
untamed lion-cubs before they’re drafted on to board- 
28 


A Little Madam 


29 


ing-schools. It sounds like a new career for women, 
though I don’t think I’ll take it up myself, thanks!” 

Among the younger members of the hostel Louise 
had found favor. Her outspoken tongue had met with 
equal frankness, and she heard many uncomplimentary 
remarks, but she did not seem to mind these in the 
least; on the contrary, she rather revelled in a battle of 
words. The day after her arrival at Bronte she held 
what might be called a preliminary tournament, to settle 
her position among her companions. 

“So you come from Africa?” began Betty Yates, 
tilting the first lance. “I suppose most of your friends 
are black people out there?” 

There was a gleam in Louise’s eyes, but she answered 
with the utmost calmness. 

“How clewer of you to guess! We’ve three degrees 
of blackness 'out there’—brown-black, which doesn’t 
count for much; ordinary black, which is quite respect¬ 
able; and blue-black, the color of fountain-pen ink, 
and that’s the most aristocratic of all. We’ve a native 
proverb 'the blacker the better’. Our fashionable ladies 
touch up their cheeks with grate polish instead of rouge. 
They always keep a tin handy in their pockets. Any¬ 
thing else you’d like to know about them? Shall I 
describe our kraal at home?” 

The girls giggled, and someone said: “Don’t be an 
idiot, Betty!” and lance number 1 fell into the arena. 
But there were plenty of others ready for the attack. 

“I suppose you’ve never been to a school like this 
before?” ventured Jeanie White. 

“Hardly!” said Louise, shaking her tawny hair. 


30 


Captain Peggie 

“You see we generally had to have our classes on plat¬ 
forms in the trees, because of snakes. It was rather 
pleasant and airy up there, though the monkeys were 
a nuisance and stole our books.” 

“Think you’re showing off, if you ask me!” said 
Jeanie, turning scornfully away. 

“But I didn’t ask you! It was you who asked me! 
A question deserves an answer I suppose!” 

“Have you lived in England at all?” queried Lena 
Collins. 

“We spent this summer at Fenton-super-Mare.” 

“So you come from Fenton?” put in Joyce Black¬ 
wood. “Do you know Sir George and Lady Hartle- 
bury who live at The Hall?” 

“Well, you see, knowing the Prince of Wales, and 
the Duke and Duchess of York, and Princess Mary, 
and the rest of the royal family so intimately, I’ve 
never had much time to bother with Sir George and 
Lady Hartlebury—though I daresay they’re quite nice!” 
returned Louise smartly. 

The girls hinnied at this, for Joyce was fond of 
climbing her high horse,* and liked to impress people 
with her list of aristocratic acquaintances. 

“I’ve met many celebrities!” Louise went on shame¬ 
lessly. “Lord Kitchener gave me my feeding bottle 
once when I was a baby. I’ve a limerick on my name 
composed by the Poet Laureate. A portrait of my ten 
toes by Augustus Johns was exhibited in the Royal 
Academy before I was two. Lloyd George has tied 
my hair ribbon, and the President of the United States 
has wiped my eyes with his own pocket handkerchief, 


A Little Madam 


31 


and Paderewski taught me to play a five finger exercise, 
and I’ve a book-marker worked for me by the Queen 
of Spain, and-” 

“Don’t! Don’t! No more, thanks! That’ll do! 
What an awful Mathilda you are!” said Lena. 

“Why a Mathilda?” 

Mathilda told such dreadful lies, 

It made you gasp and stretch your eyesl 
Her aunt, who from her earliest youth 
Had kept a strict regard for truth, 

Attempted to believe Mathilda, 

The effort very nearly killed her!' 

“If you don’t know your Cautionary Tales it’s time 
you read them, ‘Mathilda’ at any rate. Betty can lend 
you the book.” 

“Thanks for the compliment. But you’re not easily 
satisfied. First you ask me for Native Africa, and then 
for Society, and you don’t want either when you get 
them.” 

“Let her alone!” came Jeanie’s scathing voice. “I 
tell you she’s just showing off, and it really isn’t worth 
listening to her. The more you giggle at her, the more 
pleased she is with herself. If you take no notice of 
her nonsense she’ll stop.” 

Louise was certainly not the type of shy new girl 
who sits surreptitiously mopping her eyes in a corner. 
Peggie could detect very few signs of home-sickness 
in her. She took everything, including scoldings and 
teasings, in a light and airy fashion, though, if driven 
too far, her eyes seemed to flash sparks and she could 
hold her own against Jeanie or anybody. The girls 


32 


Captain Peggie 

found that the “lion-cub”, as they nicknamed her, could 
not be bullied with impunity, and as Betty pithily put 
it, “If you twist her tail out come her claws”. There 
were smiles, however, on her face, and if she had 
troubles, she appeared to be taking them pluckily. 
Peggie was quite unprepared for what happened on the 
eighth day after her cousin’s arrival. It was free time, 
and she had been to the library for a book. She was 
just walking out of the Central Buildings, when she 
heard her name called, and saw Miss Penrose beckoning 
to her to return. 

“I want you, Peggie!” said the worried head mistress. 
“Where’s Louise? Have you noticed that she was 
very miserable? She’s written a tremendous letter 
home, and her mother has come over about it. You’d 
better speak to Mrs. Roper. She’s here, in my study.” 

Inside the classic precincts of Miss Penrose’s private 
sitting-room Peggie’s aunt was having something ap¬ 
proaching a fit of hysterics. She greeted her niece 
wildly. 

“What have you all been doing with my poor child? 
I thought I could have trusted you, Peggie, to look 
after her! I wish I’d taken her with us to London and 
never sent her to school! Where is she ? Let me see 
her!” 

“Why, Lulu’s perfectly all right, Auntie!” replied 
Peggie. “What’s the matter? She seems rather jolly 
at Somerton.” 

“Jolly!” echoed Mrs. Roper. “Jolly indeed! Read 
this letter for yourself! I only hope I’m not too 


A Little Madam 


33 


late-” and she began to sob again, and dabbed her 

forehead with eau-de-Cologne. 

Peggie, who had previous experience of Aunt Lucy’s 
moods, turned her attention to the letter. It was from 
Louise to her mother, and it ran thus: 

‘‘Darling Mums, 

“This is the most hateful, horrible place 
on earth, and I am utterly miserable. I have eaten nothing 
since I came, and I lie awake crying all night. If you don’t 
come and take me away I shall throw myself in the pond 
near the wood. It’s a nice deep one, with plenty of mud 
at the bottom. All my handkerchiefs are wet through, and 
I have had to borrow Peggie’s. 

“Come soon if you want to find me still alive. Love to 
Dad and yourself. 

“From Lulu. 

“P. S. Dongo has a safe home if you’ve been looking for 
him.” 

Peggie handed back this wonderful epistle with a 
shake of her head. 

“It’s just Louise! She hasn’t borrowed any of my 
handkerchiefs! As for the pond, that’s rubbish! She’s 
playing games with some of the Lower Third in the 
Recreation Hall. I saw her only ten minutes ago.” 

“Then we’ll go and find her, and you shall see for 
yourself whether she looks happy or not,” said Miss 
Penrose briskly to Mrs. Roper. “We’ll peep through 
the door, and watch her without being seen.” 

The Recreation Hall was close to the Central Build¬ 
ings, and in a few moments Aunt Lucy was conducted 
there by the perturbed head mistress, and bidden to 
peep through the glass upper panel of the door at the 



34 


Captain Peggie 

scene inside. Louise, with loose hair, crimson cheeks 
and sparkling eyes, was racing and chasing in a wild 
game, laughing tumultuously, and shouting at the pitch 
of her voice. A more perfect picture of thorough en¬ 
joyment could not be imagined. Mrs. Roper flung open 
the door, and called her in a voice that held a tremble. 
Miss Penrose judiciously steered mother and daughter 
into a dressing-room and left them alone together. 

Later on in the day Peggie cornered Louise, and 
tackled her upon the subject. 

“Look here! What possessed you to go writing 
home such absurd nonsense? What did you do it for? 
What was the sense of it? Pond indeed! And my 
pocket-handkerchiefs! I wouldn’t lend them to you 
if you asked!” 

Louise had the grace to look rather ashamed of her¬ 
self. 

“I really don’t quite know why I wrote it!” she 
confessed. “The fact was I thought somehow Mother 
expected it. She made such a fearful wail when I went 
and said I mustn’t forget her. I fancied she’d be rather 
disappointed if I wasn’t homesick, especially as I hadn’t 
wanted to go to school. It seemed a little tame to 
settle down too easily. I guessed I’d got to play up 
and tell her I was crying quarts.” 

“You are the limit! A precious mess you made of it, 
bringing your mother over here on purpose.” 

But Louise was smiling humorously. 

“Oh Mums enjoyed it! She hadn’t seen Somerton! 
Dad brought me here while she went to Uncle Arthur’s. 
She wouldn’t have been satisfied unless she’d come her- 


A Little Madam 


35 


self. She peeped into Bronte and I showed her my 
cubicle, and we looked at the schoolroom and the gym.” 

“I wonder you didn’t take her to the pond!” 

“I would have done if there’d been time. She’d 
have loved the wood. It was a pity she had to scramble 
away so soon.” 

“It’s a pity you haven’t more sense. I expect Miss 
Penrose will have something to say to you. Don’t write 
any more outrageous fibs to your home folks, though 
I should think by now they’ll hardly believe anything 
you tell them.” 

“Peccavi!” said Louise, conjuring up an enormous 
mock sob. “Will you lend me a pocket-handkerchief, 
please! Mine are all-” 

“No, I will not lend you a pocket-handkerchief! Go 
out of my room, you young wretch! If there’s anybody 
in this wide world for whom I’m sorry it’s your 
mother.” 

“True, O Captain! And yet it’s a most funny and 
extraordinary thing, but I believe Mums rather likes 
me,” was Louise’s parting shot just before she slammed 
the door and sauntered jauntily down the stairs. 

Incidents such as these certainly made a disturbing 
influence at Bronte, but Peggie could not allow her 
cousin to monopolize the whole of her attention. There 
were other things to be seen to, things which it greatly 
behooved her to evolve and arrange. That very evening 
there was a committee of captains, and she was due 
in VIb classroom at the Central Building as represen¬ 
tative of Bronte. Except for a short preliminary meet¬ 
ing' on the second day of term, this was the first real 


36 


Captain Peggie 

conference of the heads of the various houses. Here 
they were all assembled together, from tall Barbara 
Davies, captain of Mitford and head of the school, to 
short-skirted Aileen Pooley, who preserved the honor 
of the juniors at Greenaway. When Peggie entered, 
everybody seemed to be talking, but it was conversation 
in little groups, and not remarks addressed to the 
“chair”. The room indeed reminded her of a game 
of “clumps”, for the members sat in three separate 
circles. Joining herself to her colleagues of the middle 
school, she sat down and looked at her watch. 

“That’s a hint we ought to get to business!” said 
Dorothea Chapman, of Eliot. “It’s all right! Bab’s 
waiting for some papers that Lizzie promised to bring 
across. They can’t be long now !” 

“We’d better begin without them,” said Barbara. 
“It’s after half-past, and we’ve just heaps to do. We’ll 
take reports first and then go on to matches and socials. 
Oh! Rachel has a matter she considers urgent. Very 
well, it shall follow the reports.” 

The short account of her house read by each captain 
was mainly statistics as to the number of girls and 
their capabilities for hockey, badminton, drama, or 
music. It was a kind of general census, so that every 
hostel should register what talent it could produce. 
The lists were compared and filed by Barbara, who 
kept them for reference, somewhat as an over-lord of 
the Middle Ages might preserve an account of the men- 
at-arms to be furnished by vassals. 

“And now about this business of Gaskell’s?” she 


A Little Madam 


37 


inquired, folding the reports and putting them into 
her despatch-case. “Stand up, Rachel, and explain 
yourself. I don’t understand what’s the trouble.” 

Rachel Arnold, a ruddy-cheeked girl in spectacles, 
a little self-important with the honor of representing 
her house, rose at once to address her audience. 

“It’s about the fifth of November,” she began. 
“We’ve had a Guy Fawkes Committee at Gaskell, and 
we’ve all come to the conclusion that this year we’d 
like to have our fireworks in our own garden. We’ve 
heaps of weeds and waste wood for a bonfire, and we’re 
making a special collection to buy rockets; besides which 
Allie Austin’s father is sending us a box of fireworks. 
So we think we’d rather not join the rest of you—if 
you don’t mind.” 

A gasp of surprise went round the meeting. 

“Do you mean you want to have your jollification 
entirely on your own?” inquired Edna Copeland, of 
Austen. 

“Why not? It would be far better fun. There are 
so many of us at the big bonfire, we can’t get near, 
and the same with the fireworks, they’re jumbled up 
till you don’t know which rocket belongs to which house. 
And as for the toffee, we made pounds last year at 
Gaskell, and those kids from Alcott and Greenaway got 
hold of the tins in the dark and took it nearly all. We 
say this year we’d like to keep ourselves to ourselves, 
and not go outside Gaskell garden.” 

Rachel’s speech made such a sensation that, as is 
common in unbusinesslike committees, each member 


3 » 


Captain Peggie 

began to talk fast and furiously to her neighbor, instead 
of addressing “the chair”. 

“Order!” cried Barbara. “Is this to be put as a 
proposition, or has anyone any comments to offer? 
One at a time, please.” 

In spite of her last injunction, the criticisms rang out 
all together. 

“A jolly good idea!” 

“Our toffee disappeared too!” 

“I’m sure we didn’t take it!” 

“They want all their fun to themselves!” 

“I call it the very limit!” 

“We’d better each have our own bonfire!” 

Barbara in despair clapped her hands. 

“Be quiet, can’t you! Am I in the chair, or am I not? 
Then speak in turns! Dorothea” (nodding to the cap¬ 
tain of Eliot), “you first!” 

“If you ask my opinion, I think it seems a selfish 
policy. I’ve been at school six years, and we’ve always 
clubbed together for the fifth and had our bonfire 
in the central field. If each house is going to have its 
own, it will mean a poor show all round—a family 
party in one’s own backyard kind of business. As 
for toffee, it’s sure to be looted if you leave it about.” 

“We might have a circle of bonfires in the field, 
and then we could each keep to our own and yet be 
together!” suggested Phyllis Drake, who had been try¬ 
ing to catch the chair-woman’s eye. 

“And have nine separate Guys!” broke in Edith 
Nowell of Alcott. 


A Little Madam 39 

“May I put it as a proposition?” urged Rachel 
eagerly. 

“One minute, please!” interrupted Peggie. “I 

haven’t had my say yet. Won’t it be very poor sport 
to have all 'these little rival bonfires ? Oughtn’t the 
old college to have more public spirit and send up 
one big united blaze, and let people round see what 
Somerton is doing? A rocket here and there won’t 
look anything. We’ve always made a show on the 
fifth. I believe it’s one of the sights of the neighbor¬ 
hood to go on the hills and watch bur bonfires. We 

don’t want to let down the reputation of the school, 

do we?” 

“Peggie’s right!” said Barbara. “I couldn’t have 
put it better myself. It’s the very thing I was feeling, 
and I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. The worst 
of ha\ing hostels is that we get so abominably self- 
centred in them. Oh yes! Pull faces if you like! Of 
course we must be loyal to our own houses and want 
to win distinctions for them and the rest of it, but we 
needn’t divide ourselves into nine different factions 
and squabble. We ought to be like the United States, 
each self-governing, but all joined together in a general 
way. There are certain things we’ve always done 
separately, such as Hostel Plays, but there are others 
we’ve always done in full force, and if we drop them 
it will be rather tame. It seems to me it’s a question 
of Houses versus College. Rachel had better put her 
resolution, and we’ll take votes. The proposition is 
that Gaskell and any other hostel that so wishes shall 


40 


Captain Peggie 

be permitted to hold its own celebrations, and to ad¬ 
minister its own funds, instead of joining in the public 
festival. Is that correct, Rachel? Is there any other 
amendment? Very well, we’ll take a show of hands. 
Those in favor of the proposition! Those against! 
Thanks! Defeated by six votes.” 

Only three captains had plumped for private fire¬ 
works, and these, rather sulky and subdued, did not 
obtrude themselves during the remainder of the meet¬ 
ing. The rest of the business was easily settled, and 
the delegates were dismissed to their various hostels 
to report progress to their members and discuss the 
pros and cons of the burning question of the evening. 

“How disgustingly mean of Gaskell!” was the verdict 
of Bronte. “They’ve got some good fireworks 
promised, and they want to keep them all to themselves! 
Did you sit upon them thoroughly? We must take care 
they really turn up their fine box on the fifth. They 
can’t be trusted not to let it off in a corner.” 

“I said all I could, and Barbara rubbed it in with 
salt and vinegar.” 

“Are you always at loggerheads with Gaskell?” 
asked Louise, who had been listening to the report with 
deep interest. 

“Not exactly, but you may certainly call them 
our rival house,” answered Dorothy. “We’ve more 
squabbles with them on the whole than with any 
other.” 

“Bab said we were to forget squabbles and work 
together for the coll, and be really public spirited,” put 
in Peggie. 


A Little Madam 


41 


“Then let Gaskell forget and behave herself! It’s 
she who’s the offender, not Bronte. We haven’t done 
anything to be ashamed of,” declared twenty-four 
rather pharisaical damsels, pluming themselves upon 
a self-registered record of collegiate virtue. 


CHAPTER IV 


The Mascot 

It was getting very near to the 5th of November. 
The autumn leaves, which had shone russet, red and 
golden in Somerton Park, were blown off by high gales, 
and whirled like troops of wandering fairies across the 
little common and over the playing fields. A sharp 
early frost had killed nearly all the flowers, and even 
the bracken in the wood looked sad and sodden. The 
gardens, which the girls had tended with such care in 
the summer, were for the most part abandoned; candi¬ 
dates for the spring show had tidied their plots and 
planted their bulbs, so beyond occasional weeding there 
was nothing more to be done. Bronte, in company 
with its fellow middle-school hostels, spent its spare 
time at games or walks. Only Gaskell still clung to 
horticulture. In spite of persuasion they would not 
join in the extra hockey practices or the autumn 
rambles. 

“We’re too busy gardening!” Rachel would say, with 
an emphatic shake of her head. 

“Gardening! What are they up to ?” commented 
Dorothy to her chums at Bronte. “I peeped over their 
hedge yesterday, and saw them piling up weeds into 
what looked suspiciously like a bonfire.” 

42 


The Mascot 


43 


“They’d never dare to have one!” 

“It was vetoed at the committee meeting!” 

“Barbara wouldn’t allow it!” 

“Well, go and look for yourself over the hedge!” 

“Haven’t they given to the Fireworks Fund?” 

“Oh yes, they’ve done that!” 

Gaskell had indeed contributed quite handsomely. 
She had actually subscribed more than last year, and 
was even sixpence ahead of Bronte on the list. Her 
captain was on the general bonfire committee and 
appeared interested in the arrangements, and had 
further made the suggestion that each house should 
provide two pounds of toffee for the occasion, the 
whole to be pooled and distributed impartially by 
stewards. 

“All the same there’s something underhand going 
on,” persisted Dorothy. “Watch those Gaskellites and 
you’ll see they keep looking at one another with a kind 
ef triumph. I don’t like it. I tell you they’re laughing 
at us!” 

Whatever might be the cause of Gaskell’s suppressed 
mirth the members kept the matter well to themselves 
and the suspicious Bronteites gained no hint of what 
was going to happen. They almost forgot about it in 
the excitement of half term. November 5th fell this 
year on a Monday, and the week-end constituted the 
usual break. By the rules of the college no exeats were 
allowed, but special holiday outings were arranged on 
Saturday under the care of teachers. The First Team 
had gone to play a hockey match; some of the Sixth 
Form had been taken by Miss Penrose to a matinee of 


44 


Captain Peggie 

Peer Gynt at Baddesley Wells; the Juniors held a be¬ 
lated Hallowe’en party; and Bronte, in a body, had been 
for a chestnut and beechmast foray in the woods with 
Miss Sheppard. They returned at dusk, rather late 
for tea, and lingered over hot scones and honey, with 
the delightful sensation that there was no practising or 
preparation waiting to be done. Betty Yates, running 
upstairs for a clean handkerchief, returned with news 
that broke up the complacency of the party. 

“There’s quite a blaze over at Gaskell and they’re 
letting off crackers!” she announced. 

“What!” 

“Where?” 

“Surely not!” 

There was a general stampede, and all the girls flew 
to those windows which commanded a view of the rival 
hostel. Betty’s unbelievable tale was only too true. 
From the garden of Gaskell rose a red blaze, smoke 
and sparks, while sounds as of bombardment broke the 
silence. 

“Well! Of all the sneaks!” exploded Dorothy. “To 
go and have their fireworks beforehand, instead of 
waiting till Monday! It’s abominable!” 

“It oughtn’t to be allowed!” said Connie. 

“Oh-o-o-h! Look at that lovely rocket,” shrieked 
Helen. 

“I wonder if they’ve got a Guy?” 

“And Catherine wheels!” 

“It’s a big bonfire!” 

“No wonder they looked so smug!” 

“Oh, I hate them!” 


The Mascot 


45 


“I expect they’ve pounds of toffee!” 

“And we’re keeping all ours until Monday!” 

“I vote we eat it now!” 

“Look here, can’t somebody stop them ?” 

“It’s not fair!” 

“I’ll go and ask the Shepherdess whether anything 
can be done,” said Peggie. “Pity Miss Croft isn’t 
here! And Miss Penrose and Barbara and Edna and 
Dorothea have gone to Peer Gynt, and they were to 
have tea in Baddesley afterwards, at the ‘Wells’, and 
hear the orchestra, so they probably won’t be back for 
ages. That’s what those sneaks counted upon! Oh, 
it’s a horrible, mean trick. I could hardly have believed 
it!” 

Miss Sheppard, known in private among the girls 
as “The Shepherdess”, was putting away linen, and 
stopped in the midst of counting towels to listen to 
Peggie’s plaint. 

“It certainly seems too bad of them,” she agreed. 
“Especially when it was arranged you should all share 
the fireworks on Monday. But I don’t see what we can 
do. Go and inquire! My dear child! Impossible! 
I’ve nothing whatever to do with any house but Bronte. 
How could I interfere with Gaskell ? Don’t be un¬ 
reasonable, Peggie, surely you can see for yourself 
that we shouldn’t like Miss Parsons or Miss Andrews 
to come running in here to ask why we were clipping 
our hedges or painting our windows? It would be no 
concern of theirs!” 

“But this is different! It’s very much our concern! 
They’re using up all the fireworks before Monday!” 


46 


Captain Peggie 

“It can’t be helped. We may be annoyed, but it’s 
not school etiquette to take any notice of what another 
house may do. Gaskell is responsible to Miss Penrose 
and not to us. That’s final, Peggie.” 

The disappointed captain went back to tell the failure 
of her mission to her indignant friends. 

“The Shepherdess takes it far too coolly,” com¬ 
mented Connie. “She might have let one of us go 
with a message to see if Miss Penrose has come back, 
or Barbara.” 

“Bab will see the blaze for herself directly, when 
she arrives. I expect she’s still eating iced cakes at 
the ‘Wells’. It was abominably clever of those Gas- 
kellites to choose this particular time. No wonder they 
laughed.” 

“We’ll make them laugh out of the wrong side of 
their mouths,” grunted Esme. 

“They really do deserve something!” began Peggie 
impulsively. “If only I weren’t captain I’d-” 

“What would you do?” asked Louise, who stood 
beside her at the window. 

“Oh, something to get quits!” 

“What?” 

“Never mind 1” 

“Do tell me! Just whisper it!” 

Louise linked her arm in her cousin’s, and placed 
a beguiling ear in a position ready for confidences. 
She could be absolutely charming when she chose. 

“Well, I’d go into their garden and steal their 
mascot.” 

“Their what?” 


The Mascot 


47 


“Their mascot—that wooden ship’s figure-head they 
keep on the rockery. They call it their luck, and think 
the world of it. They put garlands of flowers round its 
neck, and all sorts of nonsense. There’d be a pretty 
to-do if they lost it.” 

“Oh, I say! So there would.” 

Occasional rockets flared up from Gaskell, and 
colored lights sometimes varied the red glare of the 
bonfire. Evidently the girls were holding carnival in 
the garden, and even the Bronteites, in spite of their 
hot wrath, could not help admiring the spectacle. 
They stopped at the windows to watch instead of go¬ 
ing downstairs to play a ping-pong match as they had 
intended. In the midst of all the talking Louise slipped 
quietly away. She went downstairs and put on her 
jersey and her rubber-soled shoes. 

“Now I don’t know whether I’m allowed out of 
Bronte on a half-term holiday or not,” she soliloquized. 
“I don’t mean to ask. You can’t break a rule if you 
don’t know it beforehand. It’s rather convenient to 
be a new girl. There’s always the excuse that no one’s 
told you. I mean to have a peep at that precarious crew, 
and if I can get their mascot so much to the good. 
Here goes, anyway!” 

There was nobody about to see or to forbid. Louise 
crept softly from Bronte, ran along the central drive 
till she came to Gaskell, then slipped like a shadow 
into its garden. She kept under the bushes and made 
her way towards the light of the bonfire, then sheltering 
beneath a rhododendron, she had a fairly good view 
of the scene. The girls were running about bringing 


48 


Captain Peggie 

piles of weeds and throwing them on to the blaze. 
They seemed to be roasting chestnuts or potatoes in 
the hot ashes, for somebody kept going to turn them. 

Rachel and her chum Mollie, unmistakeable in the 
firelight, were letting off showers of red and green 
sparks. A large tin of something, probably toffee, was 
being handed round. 

“H’m! They’re having far too good a time,” sniffed 
Louise. “I’d like to put barrels of water over their old 
bonfire. I wish I were a rainmaker, and it should pour. 
What a joke it would have been to telephone to Baddes- 
ley for the fire brigade. But certainly that would mean 
getting into a bigger scrape than I’d care for. Dad 
says they charge for the fire engine. I’d like to snatch 
a piece of their toffee. I could get the whole of that 
tin down there. But then I should have to show my¬ 
self, and they’d follow me. No, it wouldn’t do. I 
must sneak away while they’re busy here and find their 
rockery. I’m glad I brought my electric torch. It will 
be a help.” 

Exploring a strange garden in the dark is not a 
particularly easy task. Louise pursued many paths, 
and ran ruthlessly over beds until at last she came 
upon a group of large stones with ferns growing in 
between them. Here, by the aid of her flash-light she 
made out the wooden figure-head which was the object 
of her quest. The base of it was well embedded in 
stones, and she had to use considerable force to wrench 
it away before she could stir it from its position. She 
was muscular for her age, and a good heave finally 
freed it. She clasped it in her arms and hurried away 


The Mascot 


49 


with what speed her burden would allow. Near 
Gaskell gate she had a severe scare. Somebody was 
coming along, somebody with an electric torch, who 
called out “Good-bye” and then walked up the path 
towards the house. Crouching among the laurel bushes 
to the left, Louise scarcely dared to breathe until the 
danger had passed. 

“Miss Parsons coming back from Baddesley,” she 
said to herself. “If she’d flashed that light upon me 
I'd have been done for. Thank goodness she never 
thought of the bushes. I must be careful there’s no 
one in the road outside. I’ll leave the mascot here 
while I reconnoitre.” 

All was quiet on the cinder path without, and not 
a soul loomed through the darkness that now concealed 
the playing fields. Louise returned, caught up her 
figure-head, and made a dash for safety. Once inside 
Bronte garden she felt she had left the enemy’s terri¬ 
tory and was back in her own trenches. Yet matters 
were by no means settled. What was she to do with 
her trophy now she had got it ? She could hardly walk 
into the house and display it to Miss Sheppard, neither 
could she leave it in the garden for all and sundry to 
see. Her resourceful brain suggested the tool-shed, 
so she hurried down the steps and behind the yew 
hedge. Fortunately the door was not kept locked, and 
she was able to enter. She put down the mascot with 
considerable relief, and examined it curiously by the 
light of her torch. The little wooden figure was about 
three feet high, and represented a classic female in white 
draperies with a wreath of laurel round her hair. Her 


50 


Captain Peggie 

paint was rather battered, owing to exposure, but her 
name “Sappho” was still legible, and her lips smiled as 
inanely as when she had adorned the bow of some 
sailing-vessel of sixty years ago. Louise looked round 
for a safe place in which to bestow the lady, and finally 
put her underneath a table in the corner, covering her 
first with some straw, and then with a number of old 
strawberry nets. She piled some flower-pots in front, 
and decided that her trophy was very well concealed. 
Then she hurried back to the house, washed her hands, 
and removed the mud stains from her garments. She 
found most of Bronte assembled for a ping pong 
tournament. 

“Tired of watching Gaskell’s show?” she asked 
casually. 

“Yes. Where have you been? We wanted you to 
play Joyce. It’s too late now, she and Esme are entered 
together,” said Peggie, who with a list in her hand was 
acting umpire. “You can play Violet if you like.” 

“I don’t mind in the least, thanks. I’d rather watch.” 

“Is that wretched bonfire out yet ?” 

“I really don’t know.” 

“We’ve decided it’s beneath us to look at it. It’s a 
matter that ought to go to the school parliament.” 

Next day was Sunday, and all the girls went, as was 
the rule, to the little chapel which had been built for 
them within the grounds of the park. They sat accord¬ 
ing to their houses, and walked back in order, so had 
slight opportunity of conferring with other hostels, yet 
news flies fast, and before Bronte had regained the 
gates of its own garden, every girl in the line had 



THE STOLEN MASCOT 


Page so 







































































































































































































































































































































































































































The Mascot 5 1 

heard the thrilling piece of information passed on in 
whispers: 

“Gaskell has lost its mascot/’ 

Once indoors and able to break rank, the girls asked 
and answered many questions. 

“Lost, did you say?” 

“Stolen, they seem to think.” 

“But who’d take it?” 

“How should I know?” 

“How wild they’ll be!” 

“They’re simply furious!” 

“Is it a burglar?” 

“A rag more likely.” 

“Their precious, darling mascot.” 

“I think it just jolly well serves them right.” 

Louise listened to these remarks with the innocent 
face of a baby-in-arms. She was not going to give her 
secret away. At first she had thought of telling Peggie, 
but she decided it was scarcely safe to do so. How¬ 
ever much her cousin might surreptitiously sympathize 
with the practical joke, her official position would not 
allow her to aid and abet. Peggie had said: “If only 

I weren’t captain I’d-” But she was captain, and 

as such she certainly must not know what lay hidden 
in the tool-shed. A magnificent project had occurred 
to Louise, a plan of revenge on Gaskell calculated to 
make the rival house mourn in sackcloth and ashes. 
It would need confederates, however, and whom could 
she trust ? She decided upon Joyce, Violet, and Rosa¬ 
mund, whose dormitory she shared, and who were in¬ 
clined to be friendly. In her cubicle, sitting upon her 


52 Captain Peggie 

bed, they hatched a plot worthy of Guy Fawkes him¬ 
self. 

‘‘It’ll be such a surprise!” 

“Won’t they scream!” 

“They’ll never guess beforehand!” 

“Be sure you don’t let a soul know!” 

Monday being a special holiday was occupied with 
half-term excursions. Some of the girls went “geolo¬ 
gizing”, as they called it, with the science mistress, to 
a quarry where there were rumors that fossils might 
be found, others were taken to the Baddesley Museum 
and Art Gallery, and a select number shared a char-a- 
banc and were conducted by Miss Penrose to view two 
abbeys and a cathedral. Everybody was back early on 
account of the bonfire, which was to be held immedi¬ 
ately after tea. A magnificent pile of brushwood and 
old paraffin barrels had been erected in a vacant space, 
a table had been carried out, on which to place the fire¬ 
works, and posts erected where Catherine wheels could 
be fixed. Hall, the coachman, and Denham, the head 
gardener, were to help and act as assistants to Miss 
James, the science mistress, who was in charge of the 
display. An enormous guy, with straw-stuffed body 
and a grotesque mask for face, was placed in a chair 
set on poles, and was carried round the field escorted by 
a lantern procession of laughing attendants. A niche had 
been reserved for him in the bonfire, and he was re¬ 
moved from his litter and placed in position with much 
ceremony. Ten stewards, each with a large toffee tin 
strapped to her shoulder, paraded the ground like 
wandering pedlars, only their goods were supplied free 


The Mascot 


S3 


of charge to all. The whole school, head mistress, staff, 
students, and girls from all houses were collected to 
enjoy the fun, and formed a big, laughing interested 
crowd. A train of gunpowder ignited the bonfire, and 
soon the paraffin casks were blazing, and Guy Fawkes’ 
body, well stuffed with crackers, was shooting sparks 
in all directions. Then rockets began to roar, and 
Catherine wheels to whiz round, and it seemed as if the 
stars were falling, and everyone called out “O-o-o-h!” 

In the general mixture of hostels nobody missed 
Louise, Joyce, Violet, and Rosamund, but during the 
fireworks they vanished, and tearing back to Bronte 
they completed some arrangements which they had 
made earlier in the day, and presently issued from the 
tool-shed carrying Sappho, adorned with a green hat 
trimmed with flowers and feathers, and with a purple 
scarf round her shoulders. The girls had joined hands, 
as taught in the ambulance class, and had formed a 
temporary chair for the figure-head. They passed along 
at the back of the crowd till they neared the bonfire, 
then pushed their way into the circle of light. 

‘‘We’ve brought you another guy!” shouted Louise, 
exhibiting their burden. 

Instantly a yell of horror arose from the Gaskellites, 
and twenty-five strong they rushed to the rescue of 
their mascot, tore it from the arms of the brigands, 
and rejoiced over its recovery. No regiment getting 
back its lost colors could have shown more frenzied 
excitement. The girls clustered round it hurrahing, 
and appointed a body-guard to protect it until the 
festivities were over. Miss Penrose, evidently much 


54 


Captain Peggie 

puzzled, was seen asking questions, but as the best of 
the rockets were now being let off all heads were turned 
upwards to watch. 

It was only when the last sparks had died away, and 
each hostel had gone home to call-over that Peggie 
captured her cousin and catechized her. 

“Lulu, tell me. Where did you get that mascot? 
I might have known it was you.” 

Louise looked at her with an angelic smile. 

“There’s a proverb I once heard: ‘Don’t ask me no 
questions and then you won’t be told no fibs’. You 
said: ‘if you hadn’t been captain-’ ” 

“Oh, you imp!” 

“I don’t expect you to thank me, all the same we’re 
quits with Gaskell, and that’s something to the good,” 
said Louise, as she danced away. 

“And something to the bad, for we haven’t heard 
the end of it,” Peggie called after her. “Oh, dear!” she 
continued to herself, “I feel like Henry II when he 
wished someone would murder Thomas a Becket and 
they took him at his word. I never expected Lulu 
would actually go to Gaskell and snatch Sappho. 
What will happen to-morrow I don’t know. There’ll 
be an inquiry, I suppose. After all, it’s only a rag. 
It’s not a very desperately wicked thing, it’s—well— 
it’s just Louise!” 



CHAPTER V 


Humble Pie 

As Peggie had prophesied, there was an inquiry into 
“certain matters connected with Gaskell and Bronte 
on dates 3rd ai>d 5th of November”. Such at least was 
the official summons which, as captain of her house, 
she received from Barbara, and in answer to which 
she obediently presented herself. The “court martial” 
appointed for the occasion was an assembly of prefects, 
armed with the authority of the school and rather on 
their dignity. 

“Miss Penrose spoke to me about it, and then left 
it to us,” said Barbara. “She says we’re to put down 
ragging. She won’t have it. What I want to know is 
why Gaskell was having private fireworks on the 3rd, 
and why Bronte stole their mascot?” 

Rachel, the representative of Gaskell, was thoroughly 
ready in defence of her hostel. She submitted that at 
the captains’ meeting she had put forward a proposition 
for separate celebrations of Guy Fawkes’ Day, and that 
her motion had been defeated, but she contended that 
that had nothing to do with the present case. 

“We subscribed to the general fireworks and we came 
and watched them. We had a great pile of weeds in 
our garden which needed burning, and if we liked to 
55 


56 


Captain Peggie 

set them alight on Saturday, what was there to hinder 
us? Rockets? Why, it was Allie Austin’s birthday, 
and her father sent her a box of fireworks. They came 
by motor-car on the morning of the 3rd, and they 
were let off in her special honor in the evening. We 
had our house matron’s permission. Surely there is 
nothing against the rules in that ?” 

“Nothing on the outside but a great deal on the 
inside,” frowned Barbara. “You really stole a march 
on the other houses, and had your fun to yourselves 
after all. Birthdays are convenient things. It’s always 
somebody’s birthday! Miss Andrews wouldn’t have 
given you permission if she’d known the whole story. 
I think your meanness is unspeakable.” 

“And what about the mascot?” asked Rachel, turning 
the tables into the enemy’s camp. 

Here Peggie was called to give what evidence she 
could, and disclaiming any knowledge of the affair 
declared it to be merely a foolish rag got up by some 
of the junior members of the house. The figure of 
Sappho had not been injured in any way, and was now 
restored to its original position in Gaskell garden. 

“You must keep a tight hand over those juniors,” 
advised Barbara. Don’t let ragging begin. Give them 
an inch and they’ll take an ell. I happen to know who 
was the chief offender, and I suggest that Louise Roper 
should write an apology to Gaskell.” 

“Yes, certainly, an apology,” agreed the captains. 

“You’ll see it’s done,” said Barbara to Peggie. “I’ll 
report to Miss Penrose that we’ve settled the matter 


Humble Pie 


57 


that way. She was very much distressed at the upset 
last night. ‘Rowdy’ was her word for it.” 

“It was the Gaskellites who made the rush,” put in 
Peggie. 

“We weren’t going to see our mascot flung into the 
bonfire,” interrupted Rachel fiercely. 

“Louise wouldn’t have done that.” 

“I wouldn’t trust your precious cousin.” 

“Sh! Sh! No more of this,” decreed Barbara. 
“Louise is to write an apology, and then the quarrel 
is patched up. I’m not going to listen to another word 
on either side.” 

Louise, especially among the younger and more un¬ 
ruly spirits of Bronte, was posing as a heroine. She 
told the story of her adventure over and over again to 
select audiences. She narrated, with many embellish¬ 
ments, her thrilling raid into Gaskell garden, and how 
she had only just escaped uncaught. Being puffed up 
with pride in her success, she jibbed at all idea of 
apology. 

“But you’ve got to do it,” persisted Peggie. “I tell 
you Barbara said so.” 

“Nobody can make this child do what she doesn’t 
want. I’d be burnt in a bonfire first.” 

“Don’t be silly. If you’re going on in this way 
you’ll get expelled. That’s what’ll happen to you. If 
you won’t write the apology it will be reported to Miss 
Penrose, and, if you still refuse, your parents will be 
asked to remove you from the school. That’s how they 
keep order here. It’s the same for everybody. You 


58 


Captain Peggie 

can’t expect to belong to an army and do just as you 
like. Be a sport, Lu!” 

Louise yielded sulkily, and went upstairs to fetch her 
blotting-pad. 

“I’m not going to eat humble pie too utterly,” she 
grumbled. Then her brow cleared and she began to 
scribble, smiling to herself the while. 

“How’s this ?” she asked presently. 

“ Take again your little Sappho, 

With a very hearty laugh-o, 

Thank your stars we did not burn her, 

And be glad we did return her. 

As it seems her loss upset you, 

And we do not wish to fret you, 

Mopping fast our flowing eyes, 

We do now apologize. 

You’re laughing. Pegs. I can see it in your eyes, and 
your mouth is twitching. I often wish you weren’t 
captain. You’d be far more fun.” 

“I’ll make you twitch soon. Are you going to write 
this apology or not?” 

“How will this suit your ladyship? ‘Miss Roper 
desires to express her extreme compunction for the 
unfortunate accident which occurred on Monday 
evening, in the course of which, by an entire oversight, 
a valuable figure-head, the property of Gaskell House, 
was mistaken for a guy’.” 

“Here, give me your pad and your stilo,” com¬ 
manded Peggie. “ I see I shall have to write the thing 


Humble Pie 59 

for you, and you must copy it. I think it may be quite 
short. 


“Bronte House, 

“Somerton College, 

“I, Louise Roper, desire to offer my apologies to the 
members of Gaskell House for removing a wooden figure¬ 
head of Sappho from their garden on the evening of 
November 3rd.” 

With a sour face, as one who tastes paraffin by mis¬ 
take, Louise transcribed her document of penance, 
placed it in an envelope, and addressed it to Miss 
Rachel Arnold, Gaskell House, after which it was taken 
immediate possession of by Peggie, who sent it straight 
away to its destination. The Gaskellites returned no 
answer, but they reported the receipt of the apology to 
Barbara, who considered that the matter of the Guy 
Fawkes rag was now concluded. Officially indeed it 
might be crossed off the books, but that was not the 
end of it, especially at Bronte. Louise’s wild spirits, 
having had a first fling, could not resist further ragging. 
In company with her room-mates, she began a series of 
practical jokes. They were harmless enough when 
played upon one another, but when they invaded other 
dormitories, the girls were loud in complaints. Helen 
Armstrong and Enid Wilkinson in particular were 
annoyed, and twitted Peggie with slackness for allow¬ 
ing such a state of affairs to creep in. 

“You pet that cousin of yours,” said Helen. “If I 
were captain I’d soon make her behave herself.” 


6o 


Captain Peggie 

“I never favor Louise at all,” answered Peggie. “If 
I trace any of these tricks to her she’ll take the con¬ 
sequences.” 

“Everybody knows she’s at the bottom of them.” 

“I’ll have another talk with her.” 

Peggie would not admit the fact before Helen and 
Enid, but privately she thought Louise was the stum¬ 
bling-block of Bronte. She was a most difficult char¬ 
acter to manage. Strictness, like a curb rein, seemed to 
drive her frantic, and she was ready to kick over the 
traces and risk expulsion with complacency. 

“She wouldn’t a bit mind being expelled,” thought 
Peggie. “I know just what would happen. I can see 
the scene. Parents sent for. Aunt Lucy in hysterics in 
Miss Penrose’s best arm-chair. Uncle Harold saying: 
‘Very well, then take her away’. Louise rather proud 
of herself and pleased at getting a holiday, and having 
a ripping time in London. It wouldn’t do. It would 
be so bad for her. She must stay at Somerton at any 
price and learn what we mean by honor and noblesse 
oblige. If only she cared for Bronte morel Mother 
says she’s fond of me ! I can’t flatter myself she really 
is, but at any rate I’m her cousin. I must do what I 
possibly can with her.” 

Peggie was trying to master the very difficult lesson 
that most of our blessings are home made. Oppor¬ 
tunities come to all of us, but how few of us know how 
to use them. Fate puts soft clay into our hands, and 
our blundering, inexperienced fingers mould it into 
something either beautiful or ugly. It is always a great 
moment when our lives first touch those of others. 


Humble Pie 


61 


How is the contact going to affect these new souls whom 
we have met? Will some magnet in us attract all the 
good in them, and make them give out their best? 
Undoubtedly there are certain people whose atmos¬ 
phere, like the sunshine, opens hard unripe buds that 
appear incapable of blossoming. We are apt to get 
what we look for in life, and those who are persuaded 
that flowers lie under the dead leaves are more likely 
to find them than those that trample ruthlessly along. 
But to have enough patience to wait till the primroses 
spring up demands certain qualifications for sainthood. 
Peggie might well be forgiven if she wished sometimes 
that her cousin had been sent to another school. 

On the very next day Louise, whose pranks had 
begun by merely placing a Teddy-bear inside Violet’s 
bed, outdid herself in sheer naughtiness. She was 
caught by Helen, red-handed, in the act of tying a 
string across the passage to trip up unwary feet. 

“Hello! What are you doing here?” demanded 
Helen. 

“Only a booby trap. Don’t spoil it,” giggled Louise. 

“A booby trap! A death trap more likely. Can’t 
you see anyone who fell over that would tumble down¬ 
stairs? Take it away this minute. How dare you do 
such things? You might have killed somebody.” 

Pulling a rueful face, Louise wound up the string 
and put it in her pocket. Then she walked very slowly 
downstairs. It was only a quarter past two, and her 
time was free until three o’clock. As she sauntered 
into the sitting-room she met her cousin. 


62 


Captain Peggie 

“Pegs! I've nothing to do. Come out with me, 
won’t you? Be a sport." 

Peggie was sitting by the fire with her jerSey on. 
She was shivering and looking rather miserable. 

“I'm getting a cold," she vouchsafed. “Miss 
Sheppard says she's going to take my temperature." 

“The best thing to cure a cold is a good brisk walk. 
I've often thrown them off in that way." 

Peggie looked doubtfully at the damp, misty Novem¬ 
ber atmosphere outside, and shivered again. Louise’s 
cure seemed rather a risky experiment. 

“Oh, come along! Don’t stay moping by the fire. 
You’re not generally a slacker." 

To be called a slacker usually spurs people to their 
supreme efforts. Peggie put away her book and fetched 
hat and coat. She had wanted to talk with Louise, 
and this seemed too priceless an opportunity to be 
missed. The girls started across the fields intending 
to pass the farm, and come back through the wood. 
The grass was wet and the path in places was very 
muddy, yet a few late wild flowers still lingered on the 
banks, and there were berries in the hedges. They 
picked quite a pretty posy between them. 

“We’ll put it on the tea table to surprise Miss Croft," 
said Peggie. “She went into Cavell yesterday, and 
said they have lovely flowers there. Bronte mustn’t be 
outdone." 

“Always Bronte!’’ laughed Louise. 

“Of course it’s always Bronte. It’s a tremendous 
thing to belong to a house and to be loyal to it. We 


Humble Pie 63 

want Bronte to have the best record of all. Aren’t you 
beginning to get proud of it?” 

“Perhaps I am, a little.” 

“You’ll be more than a little before you’ve finished. 
Wouldn’t you like to do something to help the record?” 

“I hadn’t thought about it.” 

“Then do think. We’re all either shoving Bronte up 
or pulling her down.” 

“And which am I doing?” 

“Guess for yourself. Are monkey tricks likely to 
make Bronte’s reputation?” 

Louise put her hand in her pocket and fingered a 
certain piece of string. 

“I suppose not,” she grunted. 

“No one minds a little fun, but things can go beyond 
a joke sometimes, and continual ragging gets tiresome. 
How would you like it if every day your boots were 
missing, and your exercise books hidden, or your 
drawers turned upside down ?” 

“I’d raise the earth!” 

“Well, how do other people feel? Remember at 
Bronte we’re like a big family, and we all have to think 
of each other’s feelings. If we’re nasty among our¬ 
selves we can’t be united enough to help on our house.” 

“You and your Bronte!” 

“My Bronte and yours too! It’s not mine alone.” 

“You’re captain.” 

“What’s the use of a captain unless everyone does 
her own share? It’s like a sheepdog without the 
sheep.” 

“And you’re trying to bark me into the fold,' 


64 


Captain Peggie 

laughed Louise. “I’m a slacker, Pegs, but look here, 
old sport, to please you, and well, perhaps—I won’t 
say ‘to help’ but ‘not to hinder’ Bronte—I’ll pull my¬ 
self together and be such a haloed saint you’ll want 
to build a niche for me in the garden and call the house 
‘St. Louise’s’ instead.” 

“Don’t fancy you’ll be canonized just yet. But I 
should be so glad to feel I’d someone among the junior 
girls whom I could depend upon. When first you 
arrived at school you said I must let you know if I 
wanted a lieutenant.” 

“I remember.” 

“Well, suppose I make you my informal lieutenant? 
It’s not an official post, only quite a private one, just 
between us two. Will you swear allegiance to Bronte?” 

“If you like.” 

“Your hand on it.” 

“Here you are.” 

“Pagets and Ropers don’t go back on their word, 
so we’re pledged.” 

“It’s as tight as an African blood-brothership.” 

The girls had walked rapidly and were nearing the 
farm. As they passed the gate Peggie glanced at her 
watch. 

“We’ve quite five minutes to spare. I shall have time 
to run in and see Mrs. Atkins about the crinoline she 
offered to lend for the ‘dramatics’. I believe she has 
an ancient bonnet as well, and some other old things. 
Come along, Lu!” 

It was a hasty visit. Mrs. Atkins, called from the 
kitchen, promised anything she could find in the way 


Humble Pie 65 

of her grandmother’s wardrobe, and offered to send 
them to the school in a parcel. 

“You’ll be having an invitation to the entertainment, 
I know,” said Peggie. “You’ll be amused to see the 
clothes worn, won’t you? Thanks so much. We must 
tear away now to afternoon school.” 

It is unpleasant work to hurry when you have a bad 
cold coming on. The wood was dank and chilly, and 
the long grass there was very wet. At the risk of being 
late for botany class Peggie went into Bronte to change 
her soaked stockings. She was pounced upon and 
detained by Miss Sheppard. 

“Peggie! You ought not to have been out. I said 
I was going to take your temperature. Go to the 
dining-room and sit by the fire, and I shall fetch my 
thermometer now. You have a terrible cold. I don’t 
think you’re fit to be in school this afternoon.” 

Sneezing violently, Peggie obeyed, and presently Miss 
Sheppard returned, shaking down the mercury in her 
clinical thermometer. The result of her examination 
was 102° and she looked concerned. 

“In case it should be influenza you’d better go 
straight across to the sanatorium,” she decided. 
“Nurse is there with Elsie Moseley. Pack your night¬ 
dress and dressing-gown and brush and comb and 
sponge. Is your bag in your room? No? Then I can 
lend you mine. Be quick, because I want to get you to 
bed as soon as possible. I’ll take you across myself. 
You were a silly girl to go out this afternoon. I left 
you snug and warm with a book by the fire.” 

Peggie did not wait to explain the wherefore of her 


66 


Captain Peggie 

walk. Miss Sheppard was fussing to get her away, 
fetching a handbag and helping to fling in a few invalid 
necessaries, and wrapping a Shetland shawl round her 
throat. 

“Now don’t talk,” commanded the matron. “The 
less damp air you get into your throat the better. A 
girl of your age ought to have had more sense than 
to ramble in wet fields with such a cold.” 

Poor Peggie by this time was feeling anything but 
fit, and, arrived at the sanatorium, found it really 
rather a relief to undress and be put to bed with a hot- 
water bottle. It was nicer to shiver under the blankets 
than in the botany class, though sometimes she felt so 
hot she longed to throw all her coverings on to the floor. 
The sanatorium was always kept well aired and ready 
for cases, and the nurse in charge was a favorite with 
the girls, so feeling she had done everything possible 
for the patient and was leaving her in excellent hands, 
Miss Sheppard went to the office to report the matter 
and returned to Bronte. 

Everyone was surprised to miss Peggie at tea-time. 

“She certainly had an awful cold, I noticed that my¬ 
self,” said Joyce, who was sitting next to Louise. 
“What possessed her to take a walk ?” 

“Oh, we just went for a stroll together,” answered 
Louise uneasily, remembering the coercion she had used 
to make her cousin stir from the fire. “By the by, we 
went into the farm, and do you know, Mrs. Atkins has 
promised to lend us the loveliest old crinoline and a 
bonnet for the tableaux. Isn’t it splendid?” 

“You called at the farm! Sh! Sh!” whispered Joyce. 


Humble Pie 


6 7 . 


“Why sh! sh!” 

“Because it's out of bounds.” 

“I didn’t know that.” 

“Then you ought to. What a Gubbins you are. 
Look here, you’d better not go about proclaiming what 
you’ve just told me, or you’ll find yourself in trouble. 
Mum’s the word if you’ll take my advice. Have you 
blabbed to anyone else?” 

“No.” 

“Then don’t.” And Joyce helped herself to cake, 
passed her cup for more tea, and put an end to the 
conversation. 

As the girls were filing out of the room Helen Arm¬ 
strong tapped Louise on the shoulder. 

“I want a word with you,” she said briefly. “Come 
upstairs to my dormitory at once.” 

“Why, what’s the matter?” 

“You know as well as I do.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Louise Roper, don’t tell fibs. Unless you come 
instanter to No. 3 it will be worse for you. There's 
something that very much needs explanation.” 


CHAPTER VI 


Deputy Helen 

Full of wonder and strongly inclined to rebel, Louise 
nevertheless followed Helen, who called to Enid on 
the stairs and led the way to her cubicle in Dormitory 3. 
Here the two elder girls settled themselves as inquisi¬ 
tors on the bed, with Louise, like a prisoner at the bar, 
seated on a chair in front of them. 

“What do you mean by setting a booby trap on the 
landing?” began Helen sternly. 

“Why, we had that out this afternoon. I took it 
away.” 

“You did not.” 

“I did. You saw me. Besides, here’s the string in 
my pocket.” 

“You took it away while I was looking, but you went 
back and set it again.” 

“Oh, I didn’t!” 

“It’s no use denying it, for Enid nearly tripped over 
it. Didn’t you, Enid?” 

“Almost. I only just saved myself in time. If I 
hadn’t I should be in the sanatorium with a broken leg 
or worse.” 

“You see it’s no use pretending it wasn’t there, 
Louise,” added Helen. 


68 


Deputy Helen 69 

“I’m not pretending anything. I only say I didn’t 
put it there.” 

“Nonsense! You can’t climb out of a scrape like 
that.” 

“I wasn’t in the house. I’d gone for a walk.” 

“Oh, I daresay. Any excuse will do.” 

“I’m telling the truth.” 

“Who should put it there except you, Louise ?” broke 
in Enid. “Everybody in Bronte knows that it is you 
who plays these abominable tricks.” 

“And I caught you,” nodded Helen. 

“Yes, and I took the string away and went straight 
out for a walk. What time was it when Enid nearly 
fell?” 

“About half-past three?” 

“I was far away in the fields at the time.” 

“Can you bring two witnesses to prove that you 
were not in Bronte at half-past three?” 

“Easily! At least—well—I’m not quite sure.” 

“There’s the prep bell,” said Enid, rising hastily from 
the bed. “We shall have to go now.” 

“Don’t think we’ve finished with you though, 
Louise,” snorted Helen. “I mean to sift this business 
to the bottom, so I warn you. I shall report it to 
Barbara, and it will probably be brought before the 
School Parliament. You’re not going to get off scot- 
free.” 

They hurried downstairs to fetch books and papers, 
and Louise, who was due to practise on the piano, 
followed with a crimson face. She was in a tremendous 
dilemma. There were two witnesses who could clear 


70 


Captain Peggie 

her at once from the accusation of resetting the booby 
trap. Peggie and Mrs. Atkins, yet if she brought them 
forward, she must acknowledge the visit to the farm. 
Did Peggie know it was forbidden ground? Had she 
deliberately broken bounds? Louise had not forgotten 
the occassion when they took the meerkat to the stables. 
Helen had caught them then, and had seemed sceptical 
when Peggie protested innocence. It certainly would 
not do to let censorious Helen know that her captain 
had again, wittingly or unwittingly, transgressed the 
school rules. 

“Besides which it would seem too mean for words 
to give Pegs away while she’s lying ill at the sanatorium 
and can’t speak up for herself,” thought Louise. 
“They’d set her down guilty straight away. I shall 
be blamed for that booby trap, but I can’t help it. By 
the by, I wonder who did it? Peggie called me her 
lieutenant. I’ll be loyal to her at any rate. No one 
shall have a chance of throwing stones at the captain 
if I can stop them. I told Pegs I’d help her out of a 
hole if she ever fell into one, and I mean it. It’s bad 
luck for me. I think the pixies must be playing tricks. 
I hope nothing else is going to happen.” 

But on the very next morning something else did 
happen. Louise, three-quarters dressed, broke the pin 
off her brooch, and wishing to get her best brooch 
from her locked up “valuables” box, found she had 
left the key in the pocket of her jersey in the cloak¬ 
room. So down she sped, and was just about to whirl 
upstairs again when Helen Armstrong, appearing from 


Deputy Helen 71 

the sitting-room, seized her roughly by the arm and 
pulled her back. 

“So it was you! I might have known that,” said 
Helen. “Anything more disgraceful I’ve never seen 
in my life. I don't know what you deserve.” 

“Why, what’s the matter now ?” asked Louise resent¬ 
fully, trying to wrench herself free from Helen’s un¬ 
gentle hand. “I’m sure I’ve been doing nothing.” 

“Nothing! Do you call that nothing?” declared 
Helen, pointing dramatically into the hall. “I call it 
a distinct insult to Bronte.” 

Louise’s eyes followed the direction of the wrathful 
hand, and blinked in surprise. There was a small 
alcove in the wall which held a plaster bust of Athene, 
and round that beautiful and classic Greek mouth were 
—horrible to relate—smears of strawberry jam! With 
Louise the humorous was always uppermost, and at this 
aspect of the immortal goddess of wisdom she burst 
into uncontrollable laughter, and laughed even while 
Helen, thoroughly angry, tried to shake her. 

“She looks—so—funny!” cackled Louise. “Let me 
alone, Helen. I didn’t do it.” 

“Then who did? We never had vulgar tricks before 
you came to Bronte. And what were you doing down¬ 
stairs half dressed?” 

“I came to fetch my key.” 

“It looks very suspicious. I shall have to inquire 
into it. Go upstairs now and fetch me a sponge and 
a towel. Miss Croft mustn’t see this.” 

“I’ll do that, though I tell you again it wasn’t I who 
put on the jam.” 


72 


Captain Peggie 

Together the two girls very carefully washed and 
dried Athene's classic face, removing all traces of the 
outrage, after which Louise retired to finish her toilet, 
only just completing it before first bell rang. The 
moment breakfast was over Enid Wilkinson went 
straight to the house mistress. 

'‘Will Peggie be away for long. Miss Croft, please?” 
she asked. 

“Ten days or a fortnight I’m afraid. The doctor 
says it’s certainly influenza, though I hear she seems 
better this morning.” 

“Then may we have Helen as deputy-captain while 
Peggie is ill?” urged Enid officiously. “I think there 
ought to be someone in charge.” 

“Yes, it would certainly be wise to appoint a deputy,” 
agreed Miss Croft. “I’ll speak to Helen about it. She 
has been at Somerton longer than anyone else except 
Peggie.” 

It was an opportunity which Helen did not refuse. 
She had always longed to be captain, and thought there 
were many things in Bronte which could be improved. 
By special permission of Miss Sheppard, with whom 
she was a favorite, she took temporary possession of 
Peggie’s bedroom, and installed herself there very 
complacently during the rest-time between two and 
three o’clock. Now that she was invested with authority 
she meant to use it and to keep a tight hand over Bronte. 
She had already spoken to Barbara and asked her to 
call a meeting of the School Parliament at the earliest 
opportunity, a severe measure which was only resorted 
to when any desperate matter needed airing. Having 


Deputy Helen 73 

transferred her own sheets and blankets from her 
cubicle she went to bed that night in the captain's room. 
Now Dormitory 1 and Dormitory 2 were close at hand, 
and rather separated from Nos. 3, 4, 5, and 6. The 
occupants were younger girls who had only come up 
this term from the preparatory houses. They were 
quite unaware that Helen had taken up her quarters 
so near to them, and were indeed congratulating them¬ 
selves that they were out of earshot of all authority. 
Very early in the morning they awoke, and still clad in 
their pajamas commenced a pillow fight. It was held 
in No. 1, as being most remote from other rooms, and 
the occupants of No. 2 came in armed with their 
pillows. Everyone who has any experience of this form 
of amusement knows it is not generally conducted in 
silence. At first they were careful to subdue their 
voices, but as the fun waxed they forgot precautions 
and were soon chattering like the builders of the Tower 
of Babel. In the very thick of the fray, when pillows 
were flying fast, the door suddenly opened and Helen, 
in a scarlet dressing-gown, made her appearance. 
Never were eight girls so thoroughly surprised! They 
dropped their weapons on the floor, and those who had 
beds jumped into them. The rest, finding no retreat, 
stood huddled together rather abashed. 

“What a disgraceful noise! You woke me up,” 
began Helen impatiently. “I can hear every sound in 
the captain’s room.” 

Eight conscious sinners exchanged looks. 

“We didn’t know you were sleeping there,” said 
Nora. 


74 


Captain Peggie 

“I daresay you didn’t, but I am, and I tell you I 
don’t mean to stand any nonsense while I’m deputy. I 
shall have to report this. Pick up your pillows 
and go back to your own dormitory, you four. Taking 
advantage when you thought nobody was in charge. 
Miss Croft will be very sorry to hear about it.” 

Helen retreated like an indignant whirlwind, blowing 
the occupants of No. 2 before her. She left rueful 
faces behind. 

“I’d no idea anybody was in Peggie’s room,” 
lamented Lilian. 

“Helen’s worse than Pegs.” (Kathleen.) 

“We shall have to be so prim and proper.” (Jennie.) 

“What a nuisance.” (Nora.) 

Helen, after talking things over with Enid, had 
decided that she could not inform Miss Croft of 
breaches of rules that had been committed before her 
investiture as deputy-captain, because that would be 
considered sneaking by the girls, but all infringement 
of discipline afterwards certainly came within the range 
of her duties. The occupants of No. 1 and No. 2 were 
duly reported, and received a tremendous lecture from 
Miss Croft and, what was much worse, the punishment 
of being sent to bed for a week at 7.45, immediately 
after supper, thereby missing evening recreation. The 
prospect quelled their spirits considerably. 

“Just as well to make an example of them,” confided 
Helen to her chum. “I hope other dormitories will 
take warning. I think we shall settle Louise once and 
for all to-morrow afternoon. I’m determined to put 


Deputy Helen 75 

down this ragging. I’ve served notices on every girl 
in Bronte to attend.” 

The School Parliament at Somerton was an old- 
established institution. It consisted of the prefects, of 
the nine captains, and of eighteen other members, two 
of whom were elected by each house. These consti¬ 
tuted a kind of tribunal to discuss any matters connected 
with the school, and to sit in judgment upon cases re¬ 
quiring trial. It was a combined “Witenagemote” and 
law courts, though so modern in its methods that it 
might be more fitly termed a “House of Women”. 
Whoever was served with a notice to attend was re¬ 
quired to be present, and to disobey the order would 
mean defying the entire traditions of Somerton College. 
Owing to a special rehearsal, which the seniors had 
arranged for Thursday, it was not possible for Parlia¬ 
ment to meet until Friday, but meantime Helen threw 
out mysterious hints of what certain people, who had 
not been behaving as they ought, might expect to 
happen to them, reducing the whole of Bronte to a 
state bordering on consternation. It was unusual in¬ 
deed for all the girls in a house to be summoned en bloc, 
and they could only conclude that some very desperate 
charge would be brought against them. They con¬ 
sidered Helen was responsible for raising the trouble, 
and it did not increase her popularity. Helen was a 
girl who had many good points, but whose virtues were 
apt to run to seed. Naturally masterful, the least 
exercise of authority made her domineering in the ex¬ 
treme. She liked to order the younger ones about, and 
was indeed somewhat of a Jack-in-office. She lacked 


76 


Captain Peggie 

tact in her dealings with others, and tried to carry 
everything with a big, bullying manner. Being a “new 
broom” she determined to “sweep clean”, and to show 
everybody that she was more capable of maintaining 
order than the real captain of the hostel. 

Morning work at Somerton was from nine till twelve* 
after which organized games were played until one 
o'clock as part of the school curriculum, every girl being 
required to take part, unless she had a special exemp¬ 
tion for “indisposition”. On Thursday, just as Louise 
had fetched her hockey stick and was about to join her 
team, one of the juniors ran up to her and thrust a note 
into her hand. 

“Old Hall asked me to give it you,” explained Nellie. 
“I had my riding lesson this morning, and he said he 
wanted to send this to Miss Roper, so I offered to 
take it. Hope it’s good news. Ta-ta 1” 

Louise opened the letter with a certain foreboding, 
which was justified as she read the contents. 

“Dear Miss, 

“I am sorry to have to tell you but I cannot 
keep your little foreign animal any longer. Miss Penrose 
has taken to poultry, and wants to put a pair of bantams 
inside the rabbit hutch. Will you please come to-day and 
remove your pet or I must ask Miss Penrose what to do 
with it. I enclose account for its keep. 

“Respectfully Yours, 

“Matthew Hall.’' 

On a separate sheet of paper was written: 


'To care of one African animal, 7 weeks at 2s. 14s.’ 


Deputy Helen 77 

Poor Louise! She stuffed the letter in her pocket 
and ran to the hockey pitch, where she played an ex¬ 
ceedingly bad game. Why did things always seem to 
conspire against her ? She had trouble enough on hand 
already. She was beginning heartily to wish that she 
had never brought Dongo to school. She had made 
secret visits to see him, in defiance of bounds, and in 
imminent danger of discovery. He was manifestly un¬ 
happy in the rabbit hutch, he looked thin and pining, 
and his coat was in poor condition. And now she must 
remove him to-day. How could she possibly find a 
fresh home for him? And the bill! Louise in her 
innocence had supposed Hall was keeping him out of 
kindness. She had never expected to be charged two 
shillings a week on account of Dongo. Fourteen shill¬ 
ings would take all that was left of her term’s pocket 
money except a threepenny bit and two pennies. It was 
absolutely disastrous. When dinner was over she un¬ 
locked her valuables box, took out what was needed, 
and managed to slip away unobserved to the stables. 
Hall was kind, and said “Thank you, missie” for the 
money, but he was entirely firm on the subject of part¬ 
ing with Dongo. 

“My missis is quite afraid of him and won’t have 
him in the house,” he explained, “and I’ve nowhere 
else to put him now the rabbit hutch is wanted. 
Hadn’t you best tell Miss Penrose? I should.” 

“No! No! Give him to me, I’ll find some place for 
him. Then at the end of the term I’ll take him home. 
How shall I carry him? Why, under my coat like I 
did before. He knows me. Come along, darling.” 


78 


Captain Peggie 

Louise buttoned her jersey over her pet, and dodging 
. two of the prefects who were coming for riding lessons, 
escaped from the danger zone and made her way back 
to Bronte, where she went to her dormitory and drew 
the curtains of her cubicle. She wanted to have a 
private talk with Dongo. He had not forgotten his 
mistress, but weeks of residence in a rabbit hutch had 
made him nervous and frightened at being carried into 
strange surroundings. He trembled as she stroked him, 
and looked alert as if apprehensive of danger. 

“Don’t you like the nasty cold British climate then,” 
she cooed. “Do you wish you were back in Africa, 
best-beloved ? I’d take you to-morrow if I could. Shall 
we go together—you and I? You shan’t live in a 
horrid rabbit hutch any more. You understand every 
word I say, don’t you?” 

Thumping footsteps along the landing interrupted 
this love-making, together with a loud voice calling 
“Louise! Louise!” 

Dongo’s mistress glanced round in agony to find safe 
cover for her pet, and on the spur of the moment 
dropped him into the clothes basket and put on the 
lid. Exactly one second later Helen entered the room. 

“What are you doing here, Louise ?” she said, pulling 
back the curtains of the cubicle. “Why aren’t you 
downstairs? You know we’re rehearsing those folk 
dances. Miss Croft sent me to fetch you.” 

“I thought I was allowed to do as I liked between 
two and three,” objected Louise, rising unwillingly. 

“Not when we’re having rehearsals. Everybody's 


Deputy Helen 79 

expected to take part. Come along! Don’t be a 
slacker.” 

It was impossible to refuse. Policed by Helen, 
Louise left the dormitory, hoping Dongo would settle 
himself inside the clothes basket and go to sleep. She 
took her part in the folk dances, but at the earliest 
available opportunity she ran upstairs again. Alas! 
the clothes basket was tilted over, and lay on its side 
empty. The too accomplished Dongo had made his 
escape. Louise hunted everywhere, under the beds and 
under the wardrobes, but there was not so much as the 
tip of his tail to be seen. She searched again after tea, 
but with no better success. She went into preparation 
full of anxiety. Where could Dongo have hidden him¬ 
self? If he had found his way into the garden he 
would be lost, and would probably die of damp and 
cold on a November evening. 

As the girls came out of the sitting-room after 
preparation they almost ran into an excited little group 
in the hall. The cook, looking much agitated, was 
pouring forth a tale to Miss Sheppard, while one of 
the housemaids kept chiming in with her version of 
affairs. 

“Half a dozen eggs eaten clean out of their shells 
and the rest broken.” 

“The biggest rat I ever saw in my life!” 

“What am I to do about supper?” 

“It jumped off the table and ran.” 

“There isn’t any ham left.” 

“We shall have to set a rat trap.” 

Louise’s heart almost stood still. Dongo was un- 


8 o 


Captain Peggie 

doubtedly at large, and had found his way to the larder. 
Meerkats are very fond of eggs; he had evidently 
availed himself of his opportunity and had disposed of 
Bronte’s supper. Worse than that—he had been mis¬ 
taken for a rat and a trap might be laid for him. An¬ 
other frantic search, conducted with great difficulty, 
resulted in nothing. At bed-time there was still no 
trace of him. At ten minutes to nine Louise, brushing 
her hair in her cubicle, suddenly heard a series of 
piercing shrieks. She rushed on to the landing in 
company with girls from other dormitories, and found 
it was Helen who had raised the outcry. 

“The rat’s in my bedroom!” she proclaimed. “I saw 
it run across the floor. Such a big one. It went under 
the dressing-table and I ran. Oh! I say! Here it is 
now.” 

Something small and dark was rapidly scuttling along 
the landing, and at its approach there was a mad 
stampede into dormitories. Helen bolted into No. 3 
and jumped on the nearest bed. 

“It’s following us,” she shouted. “There it is. Oh! 
can’t somebody come and shoot it.” 

The spectacle of the deputy-captain of Bronte stand¬ 
ing upon a bed in abject terror was scarcely dignified, 
though everybody was too agitated to notice. 

Louise had slipped in, and kneeling down reached a 
long arm under a wardrobe. She grabbed Dongo, 
drew him out, and carried him to the landing, coming 
face to face with Miss Croft, who had hurried upstairs 
at the sound of the commotion. 


Deputy Helen 81 

“What have you there, Louise ? Oh! So this is the 
rat, is it ?” 

Poor little Dongo, frightened out of his life, with his 
heart thumping sixteen to the dozen, lay crouching 
against his mistress's neck. Miss Croft stroked the 
heaving fur gently. 

“I spent my childhood in South Africa, and I had 
two meerkats as pets," she said. “Bring him down¬ 
stairs, Louise, and we’ll find a place to put him. Go 
to bed the rest of you. This is no rat. You’re perfectly 
safe.” 

Louise declared that she could never forget, to the 
end of her life, how kind Miss Croft was to Dongo. 
She found a large apple hamper and some straw, made 
him a comfortable nest inside, and tied the lid with 
cords to prevent his escape. 

“We can’t keep him here, Louise,” she said. “My 
sister lives at Baddesley, and is coming to see me to¬ 
morrow. Shall I ask her to take him home for the 
rest of the term? She used to love our meerkats in 
Africa, and she’d give him what he needs. The rabbit 
hutch was not a very suitable place for him, poor little 
fellow!” 

“The rabbit hutch! How did you know ?” 

Miss Croft smiled. 

“I was at the stables one day and I happened to see 
him, and, of course, I guessed at once who must have 
brought him to school. There’s no other girl from 
South Africa here. I used to go sometimes to talk to 
him and take him titbits. He would let me stroke him, 
and was quite friendly.” 


82 


Captain Peggie 

“Oh! It wasn’t out of bounds for you” 

“No, but it is for you, so we must have no more of 
this, Louise. My sister shall take him away to-morrow, 
and I’ll ask her to meet you at the station on the day 
you go home, and have him in a wooden box ready for 
travelling. He’s quite happy now, so you must leave 
him and go to bed.” 

“Thank you just fifteen million times,” sighed 
Louise. “I thought he’d be caught in a rat trap to¬ 
night.” 

“That would have been a misfortune. Don’t you 
see how impossible it is to keep pets at school? The 
rule was made with very good reason. If two hundred 
and forty girls each brought an animal we should have 
to build a zoo. Next time you want to break a rule 
have a little imagination, and think what would happen 
if everyone broke it, then ask yourself why you should 
be favored above other people. In community life 
we have to learn to share and share alike, and even a 
matter such as this means that you were trying to take 
a special advantage over others who would equally like 
to keep pets. Think of it in that way, Louise. Good 
night.” 


CHAPTER VII 


The School Parliament 

On Friday afternoon, punctually at two o’clock, the 
School Parliament assembled in the recreation hall, 
which was especially reserved for the purpose, and the 
doors defended against all unauthorized intruders. 
Each house had sent its captain and its two elected 
representatives, and these took their places upon the 
platform. The rest of Bronte sat in a clump upon 
chairs below. They were very injured girls and they 
whispered among themselves. 

“It’s all Helen’s fuss.” 

“What’s she hauled us here for?” 

“Why weren’t the other houses summoned?” 

“We’re losing our free time.” 

“And I wanted to make Christmas presents.” 

“Pauline’s brought her knitting.” 

“I wish I’d brought mine.” 

“Connie’ll stand up for us.” 

“Yes, but Enid won’t, she’s nothing but Helen’s 
henchman now.” 

“Pity we elected her.” 

The undercurrent of talk came to an abrupt end as 
Barbara, who was chairwoman, prime minister, and 
judge combined, opened the proceedings, As in duty 
83 


8 4 


Captain Peggie 

bound, she addressed herself to the members of Parlia¬ 
ment, but she kept an eye on the group beneath to see 
that they were duly listening. 

“This meeting has been specially called,” she began, 
“at the request of one or two of our representatives 
whom we need not name.” (Sniffs from Bronte, and 
murmurs of “We know”.) “It seems that in one of 
our houses the discipline has apparently grown rather 
lax, and several things have occurred lately that are 
not in accordance with our traditions. It was a choice 
as to whether to refer matters to the house-mistress 
or to bring them before the School Parliament. We 
decided that it was better, if we could, to settle any 
trouble for ourselves. It is to discuss questions like 
this that the Parliament exists. As you will all guess, 
the business is with Bronte, and I will ask the deputy- 
captain of the house to make a statement.” 

Helen, with a rather consequential manner, rose and 
cleared her throat. She had a voice ready made for a 
committee, and was not afflicted with shyness. She 
gave the impression that she was destined by a partial 
providence for a public platform, and that she would 
hold her own there with a thorough contempt for what 
Carlyle calls “the fool multitude”. 

“As, owing to the illness of the captain, I have been 
appointed deputy, and in that capacity have come up 
against several serious matters, I feel it is only my 
duty to ask for an inquiry to be held. There has arisen 
lately in our house a very undesirable element of rag¬ 
ging, of such a nature that, for the general safety, it 
is necessary to use a firm hand and put it down. Some 


The School Parliament 


85 


of these cases occurred before I was deputy, and for 
this reason I should not report them to the house mis¬ 
tress, but I wish to say that it is perfectly in order to 
refer them to this meeting, where any girl is licensed 
to bring an accusation if she can prove it. I will now 
call on Enid Wilkinson to give some evidence.’ , 

Enid had a good deal to say. She poured out a highly 
colored account of how she had come along the landing 
and nearly tripped over a piece of string which had been 
stretched across the head of the stairs, and was fastened 
with drawing-pins on either side to the skirting board. 
Had she not noticed it she would have fallen down¬ 
stairs, and would probably have received most serious 
injuries, or have been killed outright. She did not 
actually see anybody set this booby trap, but suspicion 
pointed to Louise Roper, for a reason which Helen 
would herself explain. 

Then Helen took up the tale, and told how she had 
found Louise, half an hour earlier, in the very act of 
fixing the string in position, had warned her how ex¬ 
tremely dangerous it was, and insisted upon her taking 
it away. 

“She seemed unwilling to do so and annoyed at be¬ 
ing discovered. As Louise is the instigator of all this 
ragging at Bronte we can only conclude that she came 
back and reset the string,” finished Helen. 

Hardly any of the girls had heard of this incident. 
It was not the kind of joke that appealed to them, and 
they stared at Louise in strong disapproval. 

“Why, it's an absolutely hooligan rag,” said Barbara. 

“A girl capable of that isn’t fit to be at Somerton. She 


86 


Captain Peggie 


ought to be in a reformatory. It’s the sort of trick 
played by anyone with very low intelligence and a 
strong strain of malicious feeling, the kind of thing the 
village idiot does until people complain and he’s packed 
off to a lunatic asylum. And to set it again after being 
warned about the danger! This is a most serious 
accusation. Stand up, Louise Roper. What have you 
got to say for yourself ?” 

With a scared white face Louise obeyed. 

“I set the string the first time, when Helen found 
me, and I’m very sorry. I never thought of anyone 
falling downstairs, and I didn’t know how dangerous 
it was. If the trap was there later on I didn’t set it; 
I was in the fields then.” 

“Oh, you want to prove an alibi,” said Barbara, 
who as judge affected legal terms. “Can you get two 
reliable witnesses to guarantee that you were some¬ 
where else at the time the offence is said to have been 
committed ?” 

“I—I’m afraid I can’t.” 

“Then your alibi falls to the ground. Sit down while 
we discuss the matter.” 

The members of Parliament on the platform drew 
their chairs together and talked in low voices, coming 
very soon to a conclusion however. Barbara proclaimed 
their decision: 

“This meeting wishes to pass a resolution strongly con¬ 
demning the conduct of Louise Roper. Her action in 
resetting the string is ‘not proven’, but considering that 
she had invented the scheme it seems likely, especially as 


The School Parliament 87 

she takes no pains to prove her innocence. We should like 
to say-” 

“Excuse me,” interrupted Helen. “Before you pass 
the vote of censure there’s one other charge to be 
brought against Louise, and perhaps it would be well 
to deal with the two together.” 

“Certainly. What is this second charge ? Who 
brings it ?” 

It was Helen herself who was the accuser, and she 
narrated how she had found the bust of Athene pro¬ 
faned with strawberry jam, and had caught Louise 
wandering about half dressed in the hall before break¬ 
fast; a most suspicious circumstance. The judge and 
jury on the platform looked grave. The weight of evi¬ 
dence seemed to be accumulating. 

“Had she any excuse to offer?” asked Barbara. 

“Oh, plenty of excuses as usual!” 

“I didn’t do it! I didn’t!” declared Louise hotly, 
rising in her own defence. “Helen has no right to 
say so. I believe it was one of those Gaskellites who 
did it in revenge.” 

“In revenge for what?” asked Barbara sharply. 

“For—well—for that business of their mascot,” 
Louise looked rather shamefaced. “They said they 
would pay us out.” 

“Oh! What day did this strawberry jam affair hap¬ 
pen?” said Connie, who seemed suddenly to wake up. 

“On Wednesday morning.” 

“Well, I was looking out of my bedroom window 
when I was dressing, and I certainly saw Daisy Gordon 


88 


Captain Peggie 

of Gaskell running across our lawn. I mentioned it 
at the time to Dorothy. I said: ‘Hello! what’s that 
kid doing in our garden?’ It may have some bearing 
on the case.” 

Everybody at once looked at Ruth Hamerton, Mabel 
Kirk, and Rachel Arnold, who were the representatives 
of Gaskell present on the platform. The three con¬ 
ferred hastily together. 

“We know nothing of the matter ourselves, but we’ll 
make inquiries about it,” Rachel replied. 

“Time’s getting on,” said Barbara, looking at her 
wrist watch. “We can’t convict anybody on suspicion 
alone, so we’d better leave this business of the statue 
and go back to the resolution. I say again that we all 
strongly condemn the conduct of Louise Roper and call 
her a disgrace to her house. I should like to take this 
opportunity of telling the girls at Bronte that ragging 
has got to be stopped. We’re not going to tolerate it. 
I hope the members of Gaskell will take warning too, 
and nip it in the bud if it begins there.” 

“As deputy-captain I shall do my best,” put in Helen 
hastily, “but it’s hard to pull a house together when 
it’s been so neglec-” 

“When what?” asked Barbara, staring her straight 
in the eyes. 

“Oh, nothing!” 

“You surely don’t mean any reflection upon the 
captain of the house ?” 

“Of course not!” 

“I’m glad to know. Peggie Paget happens to be a 
friend of mine.” 


The School Parliament 


89 


The meeting broke up at this point, and the girls 
dispersed to their various classes. There was plenty of 
matter for conversation, and on the way back to tea 
at 4.20 Connie and Dorothy compared notes indig¬ 
nantly. 

“Helen’s the very limit. Making out Bronte was 
going to the dogs until she took charge.” 

“She reminded me of Mark Antony, insinuating 
what she daren’t say outright.” 

“I wish Peggie were back.” 

“So do I. She doesn’t boss round like Helen, but 
she makes a nicer feeling in the house. She asks people 
to stop doing things where Helen threatens. Heaps 
of girls behave decently because they like her.” 

“The fable of the sun and the wind,” laughed 
Dorothy. “We’ve got a decidedly easterly gale blow¬ 
ing at present.” 

“And the sun won’t come out until Pegs is declared 
free of infection and toddles back from the sanatorium,” 
agreed Connie. 

Among the younger girls the tide of popular opinion 
turned against Louise. She had brought the house 
into trouble, and had caused Bronte to receive a public 
reprimand. The vote of censure from the School 
Parliament was a deep humiliation. Even the very 
girls who had helped to play the tricks now disclaimed 
them, and laid all the blame on Louise. 

“I always told her she’d get into trouble some day,” 
said Violet. 

“It was she who started ragging.” (Rosamond.) 

“We never did it before.” (Joan.) 


9 ° Captain Peggie 

“I was quite tired of it.” (Betty.) 

“Nightingale and Cavell will crow over us no end.” 
(Joyce.) 

“Gaskell had a nasty smack though.” (Nora.) 

“That doesn’t set us straight.” (Kathleen.) 

“I vote we show Louise what we think of her.” 
(Lilian.) 

“She deserves it.” (Jeanie.) 

“Here she comes.” (Janet.) 

“Then quick! I’ll tell you what to do.” 

The girls separated into two groups, one on each 
side of the door of the hostel. To enter Louise must 
pass between them. She came briskly up the drive 
carrying her books. As she ran up the steps her 
schoolfellows greeted her with an outburst of booing 
and hissing. She stopped, glanced for a moment at 
the hostile faces like a young lion-cub at bay, then 
holding herself proudly upright she walked slowly into 
Bronte. Poor Louise! Though she would not show 
lack of spirit before the others she was really on the 
verge of tears. Was there nobody to give her a help¬ 
ing hand? If only Peggie was here. But no, Peggie 
herself might be involved in trouble, and after Helen’s 
hints about slackness it would never do for the captain 
of the house to be accused of breaking bounds. There 
seemed no other way but to bear an unjust portion of 
blame. As Louise went upstairs she passed her 
cousin’s room, the door was open and it was empty, 
so for a moment she went in. It seemed easier to be 
loyal to Peggie in her own sanctum among all her 
pictures and private possessions. 


The School Parliament 


91 


“I said if Pegs was ever in a hole I’d help her out,” 
she repeated. But the cost! Under all her flippant, 
don’t-care manner Louise was extremely sensitive. To 
be the outcast of Bronte hurt her desperately. Was 
it worth staying in a place where she was so misunder¬ 
stood and so unappreciated? Should she run away 
and go home? She had no money to pay her railway 
fare. Should she write to her father and ask him to 
come and fetch her? After the letter which she had 
sent early in the term to her mother, perhaps he would 
refuse to believe her. In any case if he arrived at the 
school Miss Penrose would make a full inquiry, and 
everything would be bound to come out. For Peggie’s 
sake—no! 

On the mantelpiece of the captain’s room were some 
of her cousin’s personal belongings, in the middle a 
beautiful photogravure of “The Light of the World”, 
and on either side mottoes framed in passe-partout. 
It was the one on the right that attracted Louise. She 
read it through slowly. 

“ But all through life I see a cross, 

Where sons of God yield up their breath. 

There is no gain except by loss, 

There is no life except by death, 

There is no vision but by faith, 

Nor glory but by bearing shame, 

Nor justice but by taking blame, 

And that eternal passion saith, 

Be emptied of glory, and right and name.” 

Taking blame was the hardest thing in the world for 
a proud girl to bear. It would be hateful to have to 


92 


Captain Peggie 

sit at tea among all that disagreeable crew. The bell 
was ringing now. 

“I wish Mother would give me a photograph of 
The Light of the World’ for Christmas/’ she said half 
aloud as she ran down the stairs. 

For more than a week Louise lived the life of an 
outcast at Bronte. Her companions spoke only when 
necessary, and avoided her as much as possible. She 
took it stoically, not letting them know how much it 
hurt her, but the time seemed very long. 

On the fourteenth day after the commencement of 
her illness, Peggie, well nursed and fortified by tonics, 
returned from the sanatorium. She had been allowed 
no disturbing school news during her absence, and it 
was a complete surprise to her to hear of all the events 
that had happened. At the earliest opportunity she had 
a private talk with her cousin. Peggie was tactful, and 
instead of at once accusing her she led up to the sub¬ 
ject, and let Louise pour out a full account of her side 
of the affair. 

“You say you set the string and took it away when 
Helen told you, and that afterwards you said you were 
sorry. So far so good. But what about the string 
which Enid found ?” 

“I didn’t put that. I was out with you in the fields. 
Don’t you remember?” 

“Of course I remember that walk. Can you prove 
the time? Were you out when Enid nearly tripped?” 

“We went immediately after I saw Helen, and we 
only got back just before three.” 


The School Parliament 


93 


“Then you silly girl! Why didn’t you tell them so, 
and prove it?” 

“How could I, Pegs ?” 

“Why not?” 

“We went into the farm.” 

“Well?” 

“It’s out of bounds.” 

“It was certainly not out of bounds that day, be¬ 
cause Miss Penrose had told me to call and ask Mrs. 
Atkins for the crinoline. Lulu! you never thought 
I should deliberately take you out of bounds? Were 
you trying to shield me ? Oh, my dear! What a horri¬ 
ble mess and tangle the whole thing has been.” 

“Then we were allowed to go to the farm?” gasped 
Louise. 

“I was specially sent, and as captain I had the right 
to take you with me. We’ll soon clear this matter up. 
You certainly shan’t be under a false accusation any 
longer. I’ll speak to the girls after supper.” 

A special meeting, called in the sitting-room during 
recreation, sat and listened attentively to Peggie’s 
version of the affair. 

“We’re quite willing to take your word for it,” said 
Helen, “and as Louise has apologized for the original 
booby trap she may consider herself out of the scrape. 
What I want to know is who set the second trap, and 
who is responsible for the outrage on Athene?” 

At this several younger girls stood up, but allowed 
Joyce to be spokeswoman. 

“We’re almost sure Daisy Gordon did that. The 
Gaskellites have been joking so much about strawberry 


94 


Captain Peggie 

jam and triumphing over us, that there’s really hardly 
any doubt about it.” 

“So we may acquit Louise of that charge?” asked 
Peggie, looking round the room. “Hands up, please 
all who agree.” 

The favorable verdict was universal. Even Helen 
uplifted her arm, though she could not help adding: 

“We haven’t got to the bottom of who set the second 
booby trap.” 

, “As regards that,” answered Captain Peggie, “it is 
certain it must have been done by a girl who is at 
present in this room. I hope that she’s feeling so un¬ 
utterably mean and contemptible, and so thoroughly 
ashamed of herself, that her own conscience will punish 
her for letting an innocent person be blamed in her 
place. I think it will be better to make no more 
inquiries; we have cleared Louise, and is seems wiser 
now to bring the whole affair to an end. Some of you 
have had a very good warning against dangerous and 
foolish ragging, and I believe I can trust you, for the 
honor of Bronte, not to let anything of the kind start 
again. Can’t I?” 

“Rather!” rang out from the younger girls, several 
of whom were looking rather conscious and consider¬ 
ably relieved. 

“You’re a sport, Pegs!” said Louise afterwards. 
“You’ve a way with you somehow among these girls. 
They’ve taken me back into the fold.” 

“I’m glad. You’re a sport too, because you tried 
to shield me from something you thought I had done. 
I shan’t forget that in a hurry, Lu.” 


The School Parliament 


95 


“It was for you—and Bronte.” 

“I’m glad you include Bronte. We’ll pull tilings 
up here and show what the poor old house can do. 
I’ve grand ideas for the term-end entertainment, and 
now I’m back we must set to work and rehearse hard. 
We’ll show the school that Bronte’s not going to come 
last on the list. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Home-Made Drama 

The festivities at the end of the term were always a 
great affair at Somerton College. During the last 
week three evenings and an afternoon were devoted 
to entertainments. It was the custom for each house 
to give a short charade, play, or sketch composed by 
the girls themselves, and a committee of mistresses 
decided which was the best and awarded distinctions. 
Alcott and Greenaway, the two preparatory hostels, 
shared an afternoon, Austen, Milford, and Eliot, the 
senior houses, took a long evening, while the four 
transition houses divided two shorter evenings. Each 
had a strict time limit, so that the performances should 
be on an equality for judging, and the plays might be 
original or founded on some famous story, provided that 
the dialogue was written for the occasion. Owing to 
Peggie’s illness matters were rather behind-hand at 
Bronte. Other hostels were rehearsing and making 
costumes, and throwing out hints about all the wonder¬ 
ful things with which they meant to astonish their 
audiences, but Bronte had not even decided what to 
act. It was Peggie’s great ambition to write the term- 
end play, and during her convalescence at the sana¬ 
torium she had spent her time scribbling, and had 
96 


Home-Made Drama 


97 


almost finished a sketch founded on incidents in the 
life of Queen Elizabeth. She called a committee to¬ 
gether to discuss matters, and gave a brief account of 
her plot. 

“H’m! We’d a historical charade last year,” re¬ 
marked Helen dubiously. 

“I’m afraid the costumes would be very difficult,” 
objected Dorothy. “We’ve so little time now to get 
them ready.” 

“Eliot are giving something about Sir Walter Raleigh 
and Sir Philip Sidney,” commented Mary. 

“I've no doubt yours is nicer,” put in Pauline tact¬ 
fully. 

“You’d better read it to us,” said Cicely. 

“Did you know Maggie has written a play?” asked 
Grade suddenly. 

Maggie Fowler, the girl whom Louise had christened 
“The Prawn in Spectacles”, flushed scarlet. She was 
the shyest member of Bronte, quite a nonentity in the 
house, and generally mooned about by herself, taking 
scant part in public affairs. She was so retiring and so 
little given to conversation that the others paid slight 
attention to “poor old Maggie” as they generally called 
her. At the news that she had blossomed into literature 
some of the committee giggled audibly. Peggie turned 
a withering glance on the offenders. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “What’s the play 
about, Maggie? Is it historical?” 

“No, it’s quite modern.” 

“I should like to see it. I think it will be better to 
adjourn this committee until I have read it, and then 


98 


Captain Peggie 

I can report. Has anyone else written anything? 
Please understand that everybody has the right to sub¬ 
mit something. It’s for the committee to decide what 
to choose.” 

“I meant to try, but I was so busy while I was 
deputy I had no time,” said Helen. 

“I began a charade, but I tore it up,” confessed 
Connie. 

Nobody else would acknowledge authorship, so the 
meeting broke up. Later in the evening Maggie pro¬ 
duced her manuscript and offered it shyly to the captain. 

“I don’t suppose it’s any good, but you can look at 
it if you like,” she gasped. (Maggie always spoke in 
a series of gasps.) “I expect it’s only fit for the waste- 
paper basket.” 

At her leisure Peggie acted publisher’s reader. The 
play was short, but it was interesting. There was no 
doubt that it was far and away the best which had 
been written by a member of Bronte. 

“It beats mine hollow,” she decided. “There’s simply 
no question about it. It’s modern and up-to-date, and 
the costumes would be easy. Peggie Paget, you’ll have 
to climb down and take a back seat. One of the fine 
things you set yourself when you became captain was 
to write the Christmas play. Well, my dear, you can’t. 
Somebody else has done it far better. Smash goes 
ambition number one. Maggie will win distinction for 
Bronte instead of you. There! Don’t snivel. Take 
it sporting. You never thought you’d make a first-class 
captain. The girls don’t want your precious historical 
sketch, and you may just as well tear it up. Bravo, 


Home-Made Drama 


99 


Maggie! I didn’t know she’d got so much in her. She 
shall have her chance at any rate. I’ll call another meet¬ 
ing and recommend her play to the committee.” 

It was characteristic of Peggie that she was ready at 
once to recognize talent in anyone else, and that she 
was generous enough to push Maggie’s manuscript in¬ 
stead of her own. She had little difficulty in persuad¬ 
ing the others to adopt the new work. When they read 
it they were delighted with it. 

‘‘So easy to act.” 

“Brings in so many characters.” 

“The bride will be no end.” 

“We’ll have fun with that dialogue.” 

“It will make them laugh.” 

“Who’s to be the society lady?” 

“We must elect a special entertainment committee 
to decide the cast,” decreed Peggie. “It’s so very 
important that the best actresses take the best parts.” 

After this rehearsals went on briskly. Bronte made 
up for lost time, and its chosen members tried to outvie 
one another in dramatic fire. Much to their relief their 
play was fixed for the same evening with that of Cavell; 
they had dreaded having to share the dressing-room 
with their enemies the Gaskellites, who would now be 
a safe distance away in the audience. The term was 
speeding along quickly, and already everybody was be¬ 
ginning to talk of Christmas and holidays. Miss 
Sheppard, who was let into the secrets of Bronte’s 
activities, was a jewel in the way of outside help, and 
procured any extra properties which they required, 
making a special visit to Baddesley to buy certain urgent 


TOO 


Captain Peggie 

necessaries. She was so clever at dressing and making 
up that she was specially requested to assist in that 
capacity on the important occasion. The best of 
Maggie’s play was that in addition to the principals it 
allowed so many extra characters to walk on to the 
stage that every member of Bronte could be included in 
the performance, and could have the satisfaction of 
making an appearance even if she had no speech to 
deliver. Nobody liked to be left out, and it was cer¬ 
tainly more fun to dress up and pose as a “wedding 
guest” than to sit among the audience and watch. 
Many girls who were no good at acting in the ordinary 
sense made excellent supers, and could carry on by¬ 
play in dumb show at the back of the stage. 

At last the great day arrived! The preparatory 
houses had had their afternoon and had presented pretty 
versions of fairy tales, the seniors had acted adaptations 
from Pride and Prejudice and The Mill on the Floss and 
a scene from the life of Sir Walter Raleigh, and it was 
now the turn of the Middle School. The big recreation 
hall was packed full, for Miss Penrose had invited 
guests*to swell the audience. Cavell came first, with a 
rather mild charade, the chief features of which were 
the charming costumes and a nicely executed folk dance. 
The dialogue was dull, but waving ribbons and gar¬ 
lands of artificial roses made a pleasing effect, and they 
received their due share of applause. There was a 
short interval with music to make a break between the 
performances, and then came the second part of the 
programme. As Maggie’s little play was a tremendous 


Home-Made Drama 


IOI 


asset for Bronte, and had cost the authoress many 
hours of arduous work, it deserves to be given in full. 


SMART RELATIONS 
A Play in Three Scenes 


CHARACTERS 


Nora Pendleton . . A prospective bride and an 

orphan. 

Nan Pendleton . . Her younger sister. 

Kenneth Osborne . . Nora’s fiance. 

Mrs. Osborne . . Kenneth’s mother. 

Evelyn Osborne \ 

Olave Osborne j . . Kenneth’s sisters. 

Maisie Osborne ) 

The Honorable Mrs. 

Kennedy-Forster. 

Miss Rosemary Forster 
Miss Eglantyne Forster 
Wedding guests as desired. 

A maid. 

SCENE I 

A drawing-room. Nora is sitting at a table, sewing, 
surrounded by many articles of her trousseau 

Nora. “ Stitch, stitch, stitch, 

With fingers weary and worn!’' 


Her daughters. 




102 


Captain Peggie 

It’s no joke going to be married. The number of clothes 
I seem to need is never ending. My bottom drawer is full, 
and my middle drawer, and my top drawer, and my ward¬ 
robe too. I wonder if I shall ever wear the things out, or 
if I shall be trying at forty to squeeze into the garments 
that fitted me at twenty-two. I hadn’t any idea a wedding 
would be such a troublesome business. I sometimes wish 
Kenneth had offered to run away with me. An elopement 
would have been such fun. If only I’d lived a hundred years 
ago and could have driven to Gretna Green with a post-chaise 
and horses, and have been married by the famous blacksmith 
at the forge. We’re not nearly so romantic nowadays. 

[Enter Nan, a schoolgirl of fifteen. 

Nan. Hello, Nora! Busy as usual! I shall be proud of 
these togs of yours when they’re finished. (Goes to the table 
and turns over some of the trousseau.) This is a pretty 
jumper. Stand up and let me see how the color suits you. 
You’ll look divine in it. And this afternoon dress. You must 
wear your pink beads and your pink silk stockings with it. 
The very thing to put on when people come to call on the 
bride. Nora, my dear, you’re going to take Dunham by storm! 

Nora (modestly). Oh, I don’t know about that. 

[There is a knock at the door, and a maid announces: 
“The Misses Osborne’’. Enter Evelyn, Olave, and 
Maisie Osborne, very fashionably dressed and ex¬ 
tremely up-to-date. They bustle in. 

Evelyn. Well, Nora! Are we a great surprise? We were 
in Bournemouth to-day, so we thought we’d look you up. Is 
this your sister? Haven’t met her before, have I? How 
d’you do! 

[Nan takes her knitting and listens while the others talk. 

Olave. Busy with your trousseau? What energy! I’m go¬ 
ing to get mine in town. I say, you’ve got some nice things 
here. 

Maisie. Wonderful! 

[The three sisters begin to turn over the various articles 
with much curiosity. 


Home-Made Drama 


103 


Evelyn. By the by, Nora, have you arranged yet where 
you’re going to have your wedding? I can’t get anything 
out of Kenneth; he’s as close as an oyster about your plans. 

Maisie (breaking in). Shall you be married in Bourne¬ 
mouth ? 

Olave. And have the reception at a hotel? 

Nora (thoughtfully ). I haven’t decided yet. As Nan and 
I are orphans, with no settled home, it of course makes 
matters rather difficult. 

Evelyn. But surely you’ve an aunt? 

Olave. Or an uncle? 

Maisie. Or some relations who’ll offer to give the wed¬ 
ding from their house? 

Nora. I'm not sure yet. 

Olave. Our Cousin Joyce is an orphan, and she was married 
from the house of her uncle, General Chambers, in Park 
Lane. Such a smart affair. Eve was one of the bridesmaids. 
There was a beautiful account of it in The Queen. 

Evelyn. You must be sure and ask Joan to the wedding. 
She’s Mrs. Trevisa-Martin now. 

Nora. Ken shall give me a list of all his people to whom 
I must send invitations. 

Maisie. We can tell you some of them now—There’s Lady 
Lowman—’ 

Olave. And Archdeacon White. 

Evelyn. And the Dean of Descombe. 

Maisie. And Colonel and Mrs. Heathcote. 

Olave. And Canon and Mrs. Fraser. 

Nora. I’m afraid I shall forget. Kenneth must write the 
names down with the addresses. 

Evelyn. We shall be so interested to meet your relations 
at the reception! That’s half the fun of a wedding, isn’t it? 

Nora. I suppose so. 

Maisie. You don’t know anybody at Dunham, do you? 
I hope people will be nice, and call. 

Evelyn. It’s so very important for Ken’s profession that 
you should get into the best set. 


104 


Captain Peggie 

Olave. If only the Honorable Mrs. Kennedy-Forster takes 
you up you'll be all right. 

Nora. Did I meet her when I stayed with you at Dunham? 

Olave. No, she was away, but she and her two daughters 
lead Society. You meet anybody who is anybody at their 
house. People call her The Queen of Dunham. 

Nora. Oh, indeed! 

Evelyn. Well, we must be going, for we’ve promised to 
have lunch with a friend. Good-bye! (to Nan). So glad 
we were able to pop in and see you! 

Olave. Good-bye! 

Maisie. Good-bye! 

[They sweep elegantly out of the room. 

Nora. Nan! Isn’t it horrible? How could I confess to 
them that we haven’t a relation in the world who’d offer to 
have my wedding from his house. Whom can we possibly 
ask to this wretched reception? We can’t invite only 
Kenneth’s guests and none of our own. The Osbornes will 
think us terrible people, and say Ken’s marrying beneath him. 

Nan (fiercely). Just let me hear them say so, that’s all. 

Nora (beginning to cry). I dread this wedding. I wish 
Ken would run away with me and get it over! 

Nan. That wouldn’t help things at all. Don’t cry, old 
sport. Buck up! I’ve got an idea. What you want are some 
smart relations. 

Nora (hysterically). I dare s-s-say! But we haven’t 
g-g-g-ot any! 

[She wipes her eyes on some of the trousseau. 

Nan. Then we must hire them. I know exactly what to 
do. We’ll take a furnished house in the west end of London 
for a week, and we’ll tell Messrs. Blackleys & Co. to arrange 
the wedding for us, including guests. 

Nora (tremulously ). Are you mad? 

Nan. Certainly not! As sane as you are, and better able 
to make plans. Don’t you know Blackleys are “Universal 
Providers” and can send you anything from an elephant to 
an oyster. If you want a partner for a dance, or an extra 


Home-Made Drama 


i°5 


gentleman for a dinner, Blackleys will produce him, so why 
shouldn’t they supply us with a few Canons and Deans and 
Generals and their ladies? I think it’s a brain-wave. 

Nora ( beginning to smile). It would really be rather fun. 
I could tell Kenneth in private. He’d love the joke and would 
keep the secret. 

Nan. Then I vote we do it. Let’s impress the Osbornes 
with our fashionable relations, and our west-end wedding, 
and we’ll have an account of it in The Queen afterwards. 
Leave it to me, Nora. I’ll write to Blackleys and arrange 
it all. 

Nora (embracing her). I really do call you a trump of a 
sister. 


{Curtain.) 


SCENE II 

A drawing-room. The Honorable Mrs. Kennedy-Forster 
is sitting writing at a table. Her fashionable daughters 
Rosemary and Eglantyne are lolling in elegant attitudes 
in arm-chairs. 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster. How can I do my accounts, when 
you girls keep talking? I wish you’d be quiet for a while. 
Rosemary, half of this milliner’s bill is for you. You’re most 
extravagant about hats, and I really can’t afford continually 
to buy new ones. Eglantyne, you seem to wear out a fresh 
pair of silk stockings every week. It’s quite ridiculous. Both 
of you will have to be far more economical if we’re to make 
ends meet. 

Rosemary (languidly ). Won’t the tiresome old bills wait 
for a while? I must have a new hat for the regatta! 

Eglantyne. You wouldn’t like me in darned stockings, 
Mother! 

[She stretches out her feet and looks at them with appro¬ 
bation. 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster. You’ll both go barefoot and hat¬ 
less if you ruin me at this rate. 


io6 Captain Peggie 

Eglantyne (laughing). We shall have to live at the seaside 
then, and dress in our bathing-costumes. 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster (turning up a bill). And those were 
far more expensive than I had expected. 

Rosemary. There’s nothing for it, Mother, but to try and 
make some money somehow. 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster. That’s easier said than done. What 
can two useless girls like you do? 

Eglantyne (laughing again). Sweep a crossing. That’s 
all we’re fit for. We don’t write or fiddle or paint, and you 
can’t earn a living by golfing and dancing. 

Rosemary. Unless it’s stage dancing. We’re ornaments to 
society. That’s what we are. 

Mrs. Kennedy-F orster. Very extravagant ornaments. 

Eglantyne (suddenly sitting up). But still we’re ornaments. 
Mother, I have an idea! Why shouldn’t we let ourselves out 
to parties? I believe Blackleys supply people with emergency 
guests and pay them handsomely for going. We’ve plenty of 
nice dresses; why not write to Blackleys and say we’re ready 
to turn up at any function that’s wanted, a dance, or a dinner, 
or a tennis party, or a bridge drive, or a wedding? It would 
be awful sport! 

Mrs. Kennedy-F orster (doubtfully). But suppose we met 
our friends? 

Eglantyne. All the better. We shouldn’t go labelled “hired 
by Blackleys”. Nobody need know anything at all about it. 

Mrs. Kennedy-F orster. But the hostess might be impossible. 

Eglantyne. No one’s impossible nowadays with money, and 
if she hadn’t money she couldn’t hire us. Everybody goes 
everywhere since the war. 

Rosemary. I call it a jolly good idea. We should get the 
fun of the parties and be paid for turning up at them. I give 
it my vote, by all means. 

Eglantyne. Write and offer us as a family, Mother! 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster (toying zvith her pen). Shall I? 
Your father would have been horrified. And yet many society 
people do such things nowadays. And after all if it were in 


Home-Made Drama 


107 


London we shouldn’t meet any friends from Dunham. 

Rosemary . We could bluff it off if we did. 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster. I don’t know how I’m going to pay 
all these bills unless I have some help. 

Eglantyne. Well, there’s your way. Better write the letter 
at once. 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster. Are you both absolutely agreed 
upon it? 

Rosemary. Certainly! 

Eglantyne. Certainly! 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster. It seems a very backstairs method 
of making money, but it’s more honest than borrowing. Very 
well, girls. If you’re willing, so am I. I shall write to Messrs. 
Blackleys at once. 

[57i£ takes pen and paper, and begins to write. 

( Curtain ) 

SCENE III 

A drawing-room. A wedding reception is in progress. Nora, 
dressed as a bride, and Kenneth Osborne as bride¬ 
groom, are receiving guests, who come in and shake hands. 

Mrs. Osborne and her three daughters are in the room. 

Mrs. Osborne (to guest). Didn’t it go off delightfully? 
Nora makes a charming bride. I thought the choir sang 
quite beautifully. And the Dean’s address was so nice. 

First guest. Yes, and not too long. It’s so trying for the 
bride to have to stand and listen to a sermon. 

Mrs. Osborne. But of course the Dean is my brother-in- 
law ! 

Maisie (to second guest). Quite a crowd isn’t it? 

Second guest . Quite. Many of your relations? 

Maisie. Oh yes! The Archdeacon, and Lady Lowman, and 
Colonel and Mrs. Heathcote, and a few others, the rest are 
Nora’s. We never met them till to-day. 

Second guest. They seem very pleasant. It’s so nice 
when one’s friends rally at a wedding. 


io8 Captain Peggie 

Olave (to third guest). How do you like me as a brides¬ 
maid? 

Third guest. I think your dress is just charming. 

Evelyn (to fourth guest). The flowers were sent by some 
friends of Nora’s. 

Fourth guest. I’ve been admiring them the whole time. 

[Enter Mrs. Kennedy-Forster with her two daughters. 
She moves enthusiastically towards the bride, and seizes 
her fondly by the hand. 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster (gushingly). My dear! Let me 
congratulate you. Everything is perfect. I don’t know when 
I have seen a prettier wedding! The girls are in raptures! 

Rosemary. It’s wonderful! 

Eglantyne. You bore up so well! 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster (smiling at bridegroom). You both 
went through the ceremony splendidly. I could hear every 
word. 

Kenneth Osborne. Thanks! I think we both felt nervous 
all the same. Here’s my mother. By the by, I believe you 
know her! 

Mrs. Osborne, (in great surprise). Mrs. Kennedy-Forster! 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster (repressing a start). Mrs. Osborne! 

Mrs. Osborne. What a delightful surprise to meet you here! 
Then you’re a friend of Nora’s? 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster (promptly). Oh yes, of Nora’s! 

Mrs. Osborne. And I never knew! The sly child not to 
tell us! I suppose she wanted to astonish us! Isn’t she 
a dear girl? 

Mrs. Kennedy-Forster. Oh, perfectly charming! 

Maisie (to Rosemary). How delightful that you know 
Nora! Did you meet her abroad? 

Rosemary (tactfully). We’ve been so much abroad, and 
of course you meet people at hotels. 

Olave (to Eglantyne). Why weren’t you a bridesmaid? 

Eglantyne. Well, I’ve been one twice, you see, and it’s 
supposed to be unlucky if you’re a bridesmaid three times, 
though I never believe in superstitions. 


Home-Made Drama 


109 


Olave. Kenneth and Nora have taken a delightful house 
at Dunham, but of course you’ll see it when you call. 

Mrs. Osborne (raising her voice and speaking to all). We 
are asked to move on and pass into the dining-room, where 
the wedding presents are on view. 

[Exeunt the guests, all except the bride and bridegroom 
and Nan. 

Kenneth. Nora! How did you manage to get hold of Mrs. 
Kennedy-Forster and her daughters, the most exclusive people 
in Dunham? 

Nora (laughing). They were supplied to me by Blackleys 
—but don’t tell! 

Kenneth. Heavens! It’s the funniest thing on earth! 
They’ll have to call on us now, to save their reputation. 

Nora. Then we shall be a great social success! 

Kenneth. You clever girl! 

Nora. Don’t praise me, it was Nan’s idea entirely. 

Kenneth (holding out his hand to Nan). I think you’re 
the most perfect sport I’ve ever met. The thing has worked 
admirably. Many congratulations to my new sister! 

Nan (laughing). It’s rather surprising to find ourselves 
such dear friends with so many strangers, and especially 
with the Honorable Mrs. Kennedy-Forster. If she doesn’t 
want to give her secret away she will have to keep friends 
in future. Isn’t it time you went to cut the wedding-cake? 
I hear the rattle of tea-cups. 

Nora (taking her husband’s arm and turning to him as 
they go out). I’m so very glad, dear, that you like our 
“Smart relations”. 

By universal vote the part of Nora had been given 
to Peggie. She looked the character exactly, and sighed, 
wept, rejoiced, and even blushed in the right places. 
Her wedding costume was quite wonderful, with a 
curtain for a train, and a large piece of mosquito netting 
for a veil, and some imitation orange blossom which 


no 


Captain Peggie 

Miss Sheppard had purchased in Baddesley. The 
girls had raised a private subscription and surprised 
her with a “bridal bouquet”, a really beautiful posy 
tied with white satin ribbon in orthodox fashion. 
Connie, as Kenneth, had found dressing more difficult. 
There was a selection of “masculine garb” in the school 
“dramatic wardrobe”, but none of it fitted, and the 
bridegroom walked on conscious of baggy trousers and 
a too large collar, but trying to make up for deficiencies 
by the fervor of his concluding remarks. Dorothy, 
as the Honorable Mrs. Kennedy-Forster was inimi¬ 
table. She was “got up regardless”, in an enormous 
hat, a feather boa, the daintiest of shoes, and a lorgnette 
to finish her aristocratic appearance. Dorothy was 
Bronte’s best actress; she played up for the occasion, 
even to an exact mimicry of the deep-toned voice of a 
society lady whom she had met in the summer at an 
hotel. Helen and Enid, as her daughters, carried off 
their parts with success, Lena, Esme, and Betty were 
capital as the three fashionable Osborne sisters, and 
Mary, though not so good as Kenneth’s mother, passed 
muster quite creditably. 

The girls, possibly to make up for misunderstandings, 
had voted the character of Nan to Louise. It was most 
appropriate, as the scheme of the plot was just the sort 
of madcap idea which Louise would have originated, 
and she played her part with gusto, evidently thoroughly 
enjoying it. The rest of Bronte, attired in both mascu¬ 
line and feminine costumes, strolled on to the stage 
as wedding guests, very pleased with their appearance 
as “smart relations”. Pauline as the colonel, with a 



“NORA” AND “KENNETH” 


Page no 
















Home-Made Drama 


hi 


grey moustache and a flower in his buttonhole was 
worthy of a speech, but had to be content with dumb- 
show conversation, while the dean, with Miss Shep¬ 
pard’s tall spats for gaiters, looked benevolent and 
ecclesiastical, as if he had performed the ceremony. 

There was tremendous clapping at the close, and as 
the curtain went up once more for a final view, there 
came cries of “Author! Author!” Maggie, who was 
a poor actress and who had refused to take a leading 
part in her own play, was hiding behind other wedding 
guests, but “Nora” and “Kenneth” dragged her forth, 
and placed her between them to make her acknowledg¬ 
ment to the audience. With a crimson face she gave a 
prim little bow, and would have run away again, but 
for the firm hands of the bride and bridegroom. 

On the following evening came the turns of Gaskell 
and Nightingale, the one gave a scene from Cranford, 
and the other an episode from the Crimean War, bring¬ 
ing in their “Lady of the Lamp”, Florence Nightingale. 
Both were interesting, and quite creditable, though 
some of the acting was rather stiff. 

It was now the difficult and delicate task of Miss 
Penrose and the committee of mistresses to decide on 
the respective merits of the nine separate performances. 
They judged on various points, giving marks for the 
piece, for acting, for costumes, and for general effect. 
The whole school assembled to hear the result. 

“I consider,” said Miss Penrose, “that all the plays 
this time have been remarkably good. They mark a 
great advance on those of last year, and have been 
most amusing and entertaining. I desire to commend 


112 Captain Peggie 

Austen for the excellence of the old world atmosphere 
maintained in the scene from Pride and Prejudice, also 
Nightingale for the beautifully arranged representation 
of the ‘‘Lady of the Lamp” visiting her sick soldiers 
in the camp hospital. After some discussion we have 
all voted in favor of Bronte: the sketch Smart Rela¬ 
tions by Maggie Fowler is by far the most original of 
all, and it had several good situations, bright dialogue, 
and was acted with great spirit. I have much pleasure 
in awarding the distinction therefore to Bronte. 
Author, please.” 

The shyest of the shy, and blushing carmine, retiring 
Maggie shambled forward to the platform, where Miss 
Penrose handed her a large wreath made of laurels and 
tied with silver ribbons. It was of no special value, but 
it was a most coveted “distinction”, and would be hung 
up in the hall at Bronte and be treasured till its leaves 
crumbled to dust. It was the first year that Bronte 
had ever won the dramatic honor, and it marked a 
great event for the house. On the strength of this it 
could hold up its head next term and take quite a 
different position in the school. 

“I’m so excited we’ve won. But I hoped we should 
have acted your play, and yon would have marched up 
for the wreath, Pegs,” said Louise to her cousin. 

“It doesn’t matter in the least. I don’t care so long 
as Bronte has the distinction.” 

“Always Bronte!” 

“Of course. Aren’t you beginning to feel the same ?” 

“Perhaps I am. A term here makes a difference. I 
didn’t care when I first came.” 


Home-Made Drama 


113 

“You care now, though? You’ll be as proud of the 
house as anybody in the end ?” 

“Miss Captain Peggie, if everyone were as loyal to 
her hostel and to Somerton as you are it would be a 
good thing for Bronte and for the school,” returned 
Louise. 


CHAPTER IX 


Just For Fun 

On 19th December Somerton College “broke up” 
for the holidays. Once more motor-buses, piled with 
handbags outside and crowded with schoolgirls inside, 
plied to the station, and once more came the cheerful 
chattering and buzzing that marked the removal. On 
the platform Louise was met by Miss Croft’s sister. 
She carried a neat wooden box with a piece of per¬ 
forated zinc in the lid for ventilation. To judge from 
the scrambling inside it contained Dongo. 

“I’ve taken great care of him, and he’s very well,” 
she said. “I’ve nailed up the box. Don’t try to open 
it until you reach home. He has plenty of food. If he 
got loose in the train and escaped and you lost him it 
would be such a pity. He’s a darling, and I’m quite 
sorry to part with him.” 

“I don’t know how to thank you,” exclaimed Louise 
gratefully, trying to peep at her pet through the 
ventilator. 

Louise and Peggie were travelling home together. 
The Pagets lived at Ridgeway, a small place in Dorset, 
and the Ropers had taken a furnished house there for 
six weeks, so that the cousins could join forces for 
Christmas festivities. Peggie’s three brothers would 
114 


Just For Fun 115 

be back from school and college, also Louise’s brother 
Roy, and they were looking forward to plenty of fun 
during the vacation. Louise—little fireworks that she 
was—arrived home like a comet, but settled down im¬ 
mediately as “daughter of the house”. 

“What have you done to her at Somerton, Peggie?” 
asked her astonished mother. “She’s utterly different. 
Of course, she’s still Louise, but she’s so much more 
reasonable and sensible and ready to help. She doesn’t 
squabble with Roy now, or get into ‘tantrums’ at the 
least thing. Everybody used to tell me ‘send her to 
school’, but I couldn’t have believed that a term would 
make so much improvement. What’s your secret?” 

“Oh, I don’t know! Lu’s had no time for tantrums. 
She’s got very interested in Bronte, and has been trying 
to help on the house.” 

“Then I bless Btonte,” said Mrs. Roper. “It was 
a fortunate day when we sent her there.” 

Christmas was a distinctly family affair. It was 
many years since the Pagets and Ropers had spent it 
together, and they enjoyed being a united party. The 
young folks were too old for stockings and Christmas 
trees, but they played games and told stories and finished 
the evening with a little dance. Including Peggie’s 
elder sister Phyllis there were seven of them, quite 
enough to create much fun and to insure against any 
dullness during the holidays. They all found plenty to 
do in the way of amusement. Sometimes they went 
bicycling to places of interest in the neighborhood, 
sometimes they took a turn at golf; there was a grand 
excursion to a pantomime in an adjacent town, and 


n6 Captain Peggie 

they sampled local concerts and the cinema. Ridgeway 
was in the midst of fine country, and though January 
scenery was inclined to be sodden and desolate there 
were beautiful bits of woodland, and stretches of com¬ 
mon near the golf links where patches of gorse were 
blooming. 

Early in the new year came a few days of glorious 
mild weather, so unusually warm and fine for the season 
that spring seemed for the moment to have usurped 
the place of winter, snowdrops and polyanthus peeped 
up in the garden, yellow jessamine bloomed on the 
porch, and starlings plumed their feathers and sang 
cheerful little songs in the sunshine. Such a halcyon 
interlude tempted the party of cousins to make an ex¬ 
pedition to Oldcombe, a small seaside place about ten 
miles away from Ridgeway. They went on bicycles, > 
and took packets of sandwiches and cake and thermos 
flasks of coffee so that they might have a picnic. The 
boys even added bathing costumes and towels. 

“It's as warm as Easter and quite fit for a dip,” de¬ 
cided Claude. 

“These are not the first Christmas holidays we’ve 
gone for a swim,” agreed Nelson. 

“Of course we always bathed at Christmas in Africa,” 
said Roy. 

“Naturally, when you lived south of the equator and 
had your summer in January. I’m afraid you’ll find 
British water very cold.” 

“I’ll chance it anyhow. It can’t be much colder than 
one’s morning tub.” 

“Oh, can’t it! Wait and see!” 


Just For Fun n 7 

It was not a particularly long ride to Oldcofnbe, 
though there were one or two stiff hills up which they 
had to wheel their bicycles. The little town itself was 
rather slummy and uninteresting, and presented no 
attractions, so they left their machines at a restaurant 
and set out to follow a path which led along the cliffs. 
When sordid cottages and fowl enclosures were left 
behind the view began to improve, and by the time they 
had walked a mile and a half they were completely in 
the country. The cliffs faced south, and were protected 
by spurs of hills from the prevailing west wind, so that 
on this January day they had the full benefit of the sun¬ 
shine. The one disadvantage was the difficulty of ap¬ 
proaching the sea. Many attractive coves could be seen 
below, yet it was utterly impossible to climb down to 
them. Our party had to walk quite a long way before 
they found a place practicable to scramble on to the 
rocks beneath. Here they were on the edge of a very 
precipitous cove, inaccessible from the farther side, and 
so difficult to reach even from the rocks that they de¬ 
cided not to attempt the descent. 

“The tide’s coming in so fast that we can dive from 
here, have our swim, and scramble out again,” decided 
Claude. “We’d better do it now while the water’s up.” 

“We’ll be laying lunch ready,” said Phyllis. “Don’t 
stay in too long. I’m afraid the sea will be colder than 
you think.” 

“Nonsense! We shall enjoy being braced up.” 

“Then don’t swim too far.” 

“We’ll go to the other side of the cove and back.” 

“Too risky.” 


n8 Captain Peggie 

“Not a bit! We’ll have a race there just for fun and 
show you.” 

“Yes, just for fun!” agreed Roy. 

“It will be a little too much fun if you’re caught in a 
current,” warned cautious Phyllis. 

“Rubbish! Girls are such scaremongers.” 

“You wait and see.” 

“We’ll have a garland of gorse ready for the winner,” 
laughed Louise. “It’s the only flower that’s out at 
present.” 

“Rather a prickly honor, thanks.” 

“Well, pride must suffer pain. We shall insist on 
crowning the conquering hero, so prepare your brow 
for the prickles.” 

The boys retreated to some bushes and changed into 
their bathing costumes, then coming to the edge of the 
rocks they dived one after the other into the water. 
They were all strong swimmers, and though it was 
undoubtedly chilly, the exercise soon warmed them. 
They had a race across the mouth of the cove and landed 
upon a low half submerged rock on the farther side. 
They scrambled to their feet and stood up admiring 
the view and watching the seagulls that screamed round 
the cliff. It had been a harder task to swim the bay 
than they had expected, for there was a strong swell 
on, and they were all glad to have a few minutes’ rest 
before returning. Suddenly, and as it seemed without 
warning, they saw advancing towards them an enor¬ 
mous wave, so great that it looked like a gigantic green 
wall of water rolling in from the sea. Claude, the most 
experienced of the bathers, shouted to the others and 


Just For Fun 119 

dived for self preservation, but his brothers and cousin 
bent backwards and tried to hold their own against 
the force of the wave. Man’s puny strength is as 
nought against the mighty power of nature; the great 
volume of water whirled the boys from their feet and 
dashed them like matches up the cove on to the beach 
beyond. Roy was cast, half stunned, into a crevice, 
and Nelson and Chris, by gripping tightly at the sea¬ 
weed, managed to cling to the rocks and avoid being 
carried down by the backwash of the huge wave. 

The girls meanwhile spent the most agonizing 
moments of their lives. They had watched the green 
mountain advance and had shouted a warning, but 
unheard. One moment four splendid young figures 
were standing upon the rock, and the next —there were 
no boys! It was not until foam and water had washed 
back that they saw Claude’s dark head emerge, and 
ran to the edge of the rocks to help to drag him from 
the sea. They were too far away to be able to com¬ 
municate with the others, though they could see them 
in the cove, and watched Chris and Nelson pull Roy 
out of the crevice. How the three boys ever managed 
to swim the bay again and regain the cliff was a miracle 
even to themselves. Roy was dazed by his fall and 
had to be dragged along by his cousins, giving them 
an experience in life-saving. All three were very much 
cut and bruised, though no bones had been broken. 
The girls tore up handkerchiefs and towels and applied 
first aid to the best of their skill, giving the wounded 
heroes hot coffee from the thermos flasks, but the cuts 
were bleeding badly in spite of their efforts, and Phyllis. 


i2o Captain Peggie 

the only one who had studied ambulance, grew 
frightened. 

“We must get you a doctor as fast as possible/' 
she urged. “All these places ought to be washed to 
take the sea water out of them, and there’s no fresh 
water here. Let us climb on to the path above and go 
back to Oldcombe. We’ll stop at the first cottage and 
ask for help.” 

The miles that seemed quite short on their outward 
walk lengthened interminably as the poor boys, stiff, 
sore, and battered, limped painfully along. Roy indeed 
was on the verge of collapse when luckily they reached 
the point where the path joined the road, and a passing 
motorist, noticing their plight, stopped his car and 
offered the invalids a lift. He ran them into Oldcombe 
and left them at the doctor’s surgery, where their cuts 
were washed with disinfectant and dressed, and the 
bleeding stopped. It was a long process, for the doctor 
was conscientious over it, and Claude and the girls, 
who had followed to the surgery, spent more than an 
hour waiting until they were ready. They emerged 
at last, looking as if they had been at the war, Roy 
with his head bound up, Nelson limping on a bandaged 
leg, and Chris with his right arm in a sling. It was 
plain they were quite unfit to bicycle, and after refresh¬ 
ing them with tea at a restaurant Claude managed to 
charter a car to convey them home. 

“Don’t give Mother too big a shock when you arrive,” 
warned Phyllis. “Tell her we’re all alive. I’m afraid 
Aunt Lucy will have hysterics when she sees Roy. 


Just For Fun 


121 


We’ll ride back as quick as we can. Your bicycles must 
stay here till they can be fetched.” 

“I bet the Mater will scream when we turn up,” 
smiled Nelson. 

“We’ve got our money’s worth in bandages,” de¬ 
clared Chris. 

Though the young people might joke about the 
matter they all knew that they had been on the verge 
of a tragedy, that the great cruel wave might have 
spared none, and that those who now sat laughing in 
the car might have been floating very quietly and still 
on the grey waters of the channel. Louise’s eyes were 
full of tears as she waved good-bye. 

“It would have just killed Mummie if anything had 
happened to Roy,” she whispered to Peggie. “Are they 
safe now?” 

“Yes, thanks to first aid and the doctor. How 
chilly it is. Ugh! We shall catch cold if we stand still. 
I vote we fetch our bicycles and ride home at once.” 

The invalids certainly created a sensation when they 
arrived at Ridgeway, but their injuries were not so 
great as their many bandages would have given people 
to suppose, and they soon began to recover. Bicycling, 
golf, long walks, or dancing were for the present sus¬ 
pended, so it became a little difficult to amuse them. 
To keep them entertained Mrs. Paget organized a 
series of afternoon parties, inviting young people from 
the neighborhood for tea, with competitions, games, 
and charades afterwards. As many of the friends 
came from a distance and had to go home along dark 
country lanes, it was more convenient to hold the 


122 


Captain Peggie 

festivities early, and to let the guests depart with their 
lanterns by seven o’clock. 

Every fresh form of amusement was thought of, 
from a revival of ping-pong, which Chris played with 
his left arm, to guessing advertisements, or memorizing 
a tray full of small articles exhibited for a two-minute 
brief inspection. Louise turned out rather clever at 
making fresh suggestions, and with her mother’s per¬ 
mission arranged that one of the tea-drinkings should 
be held at their own house. She astonished every¬ 
body with the elaboration of her preparations. To her 
mother, who had taken her as a tiresome spoilt child 
to Somerton, she seemed suddenly to have grown up, 
so capable did she prove herself at arranging flowers, 
printing competition programmes, baking cakes, set¬ 
ting out dainty little tea tables, and other feminine 
employments in which before she had been woefully 
deficient. She received her guests quite prettily, and 
showed herself a good hostess by taking care that every¬ 
one had a pleasant time, and that nobody was left in a 
corner or neglected. Her competition was a novelty, 
so far as her set of friends was concerned. They had 
not tried it before. Each visitor was requested to bring 
to the party a photograph of himself or herself as a 
baby or as a very young child. The portraits were 
given privately to the hostess, who numbered them, 
and set them out for exhibition. The competitors, 
armed with cards and pencils, were required to guess 
the identity of the various podgy infants, a matter of 
much difficulty and unlimited amusement, for the con¬ 
nection between a ball of fat, clad solely in a vest, and 


Just For Fun 


123 


a stalwart undergraduate of 6 ft. 1 in. was often ob¬ 
scure. Many were the mistakes, the guests even mixed 
the sexes, and Phyllis at six months found herself 
figuring as the Rev. Basil YVainwright, to the em¬ 
barrassment of that worthy young curate and the 
delighted chuckles of the boys, while Louise as a 
belligerent-looking baby was written down by most as 
Nelson or Claude. 

Peggie gained the prize, but having known nearly all 
the originals of the portraits from childhood, she had 
an advantage over newcomers, and indeed said herself 
that it was unfair for her to win. 

“It can’t be helped. The others have had the fun 
of guessing and that’s the main thing. Your score’s 
the highest so, of course, you must come out top,” said 
Louise, handing her cousin a bottle of lavender water, 
and bestowing a little nigger mascot, as booby prize, 
upon Chris, who had been purposely guessing wrong in 
order to “rag” his friends. 

Everybody clamored now for the charades, so the 
party divided into two companies, one of which left the 
room to arrange scenes. Peggie was in the audience, 
and to tease her a little for having acted bride in Smart 
Relations , Claude, who was leader of the performers, 
illustrated the first syllable of the word by a wedding. 
Jack Helston, an enormous young fellow of over six 
feet in his stockings, represented the fair lady. He 
was draped in sheets to represent bridal attire, and 
wore as veil a lace window curtain hastily pulled down 
for the occasion. He carried a bouquet of holly and 
paper flowers wrenched from the Christmas decorations 


124 


Captain Peggie 

in the hall. His train was held by boy-bridesmaids, 
decked out in various articles of feminine attire. Chairs 
were arranged in the room to represent a church, and 
he strode, with large feet, along the supposed aisle 
towards the altar. He looked the most absurd figure 
imaginable, as he stood glancing round in frenzied 
anxiety for the bridegroom, who had not yet turned up. 

“Will he come? Do you think he means to desert 
me?” asked the deep manly voice of the bride. 

“No, no, darling! He’ll be here in a moment. He’d 
forgotten the ring,” squeaked the bridesmaids, in what 
they considered truly feminine accents. 

Then in hopped the bridegroom, a bobbed-haired 
girlish little figure in a boy’s coat and trousers, with a 
huge paper rose in his buttonhole, and holding aloft 
an enormous brass curtain ring. He nipped up the 
aisle to the side of his bouncing bride, reaching scarcely 
to her shoulder, and began to assure her in tender tones 
that the ceremony could now proceed. The contrast 
between the rugged lady and the petit gentleman was 
like that between an owl and a canary, and the audi¬ 
ence laughed so much that they completely forgot to 
listen for the word of the charade. 

Claude’s next scene represented a village fair, with 
travelling shows. Louise, padded with pillows, was 
the “fat woman”, there was a gipsy with a performing 
dog, a conjurer who offered to swallow a carving knife, 
and a professor of astrology who told fortunes and 
characters. He was interviewed by a lady, and fixed 
his deep eyes upon hers as if he were trying an experi¬ 
ment in hypnotism. 


Just For Fun 125 

“How old were you when you were born?” he asked 
commandingly. 

“Seventeen,” she faltered. 

“Write down liar,” he said to his secretary, who 
was making notes of the character. 

But the lady objected to such an item being recorded 
and wanted her money back, and the scene ended in 
a fierce altercation between her friends and the Pro¬ 
fessor of astrology, which was developing into a wrest¬ 
ling match among the boys till Mr. Roper remarked, 
“There! There! That’ll do please. Spare the furni¬ 
ture,” whereupon the performers made a hasty exit. 

Scene 3, which was to contain the whole word of the 
charade, showed its actors upon a beach. Chairs 
covered with waterproofs served for rocks, behind 
which two of the company carried on a violent flirtation, 
while the rest, in elegant attitudes, lazed on the sands 
with cushions. The matron of the party presently 
missed her daughter and began a search, calling loudly 
for “Dorothy”. She peeped everywhere except in the 
right place, till finally her “little boy”, a tall youth in 
socks and an improvised sailor collar cut from a news¬ 
paper, pointed out to her the retreat of the lovers, 
whereupon she wrath fully trounced her daughter away, 
and the indignant girl, weeping with disappointment, 
set upon the horrid little brother, smacked him soundly, 
and called him a tell-tale. 

“Tell-tale! Tell-tale!” shouted the audience, having 
at last guessed the word. “Very good indeed.’’ 

The gratified actors stood in a row and bowed, then 
retired to change their costumes and leave the field 


126 


Captain Peggie 

clear for the performance of the second company. 
Their rivals on the stage decided that instead of giving 
another charade, they would produce some historical 
scenes in dumb show, the subjects to be guessed by the 
audience. They were a very long time in dressing, but 
finally appeared in eastern costumes, while one of their 
number, in a dark coat with a striped hearth-rug on 
his bent back seemingly represented a camel, that knelt 
when the cavalcade stopped. The bargaining which 
followed over the head of a gaily arrayed lad, though 
conducted without words, left little doubt as to the 
nature of the agreement, and “Joseph sold by his 
brethren” was easily guessed. 

The second historical scene was strictly classical. 
The actors were clad in sheets arranged as Roman 
togas, while a couple of them, apparently lictors, carried 
bundles of walking sticks and golf clubs in lieu of 
rods. An obsequious lackey in a toga, bearing what 
looked suspiciously like an upturned cake basket on a 
velvet cushion, offered the doubtful article to the 
magnificent central figure of the group, who waved 
it away with disdain, whereupon the crowd clapped 
enthusiastically. In spite of the unlikeness of the cake 
basket to a diadem, there was no difficulty in recog¬ 
nizing “Julius Caesar rejecting the crown”. 

The young people found the scenes in dumb show 
almost more amusing than charades, and would have 
given others, but time had outstripped them and the 
clock had already struck seven, so the guests, with 
mackintoshes and lanterns, bade their good-byes and 
plunged into the pouring rain outside, while the Roper 


127 


Just For Fun 

family, aided by Peggie and Phyllis, set to work to tidy 
up a part at least of the extreme muddle which is always 
the result of amateur theatricals. 

“You’re quite a nice little actress now, Louise,” said 
her father proudly. “Where have you learnt that?” 

“At Bronte, of course.” 

“Everything seems to be Bronte nowadays.” 

“That’s Peggie’s fault. She’s rubbed the house into 
me so thoroughly, that I feel labelled Bronte for the 
rest of my life now.” 

“It has a good effect upon you evidently, and you 
seem to thrive upon it. You’ll trot off to school with¬ 
out all the fuss you made last September, I hope?” 

“Oh, I don’t in the least mind going back this term,” 
replied Louise airily. “I told you before, Dad, I like 
Somerton.” 


CHAPTER X 


An Adventure In The Snow 

Although Louise might not be ready to confess as 
much, she had thoroughly enjoyed spending the holidays 
with her brother Roy. The pair were apt to spar and 
squabble, yet they were really fond of one another, 
and had been accustomed to do most things together. 
Roy was a year and a half younger than Louise, a fine 
boy, nearly as tall as his sister and with the same light 
brown eyes and tawny hair. His first term at an Eng¬ 
lish preparatory school had been rather a rough experi¬ 
ence, for he also was a half tamed lion-cub, and he 
had much to tell of dormitory rags and of doings in the 
playground. St. Jocelyn’s, however, had worked im¬ 
provement, and according to Claude, Nelson, and Chris, 
had “licked him considerably into shape” since the last 
summer. This was the first Christmas that the young 
Ropers had spent in their mother country, and they had 
been greatly disappointed that a British January, in¬ 
stead of bringing the traditional snow and ice, had 
treated them to mild sunny days or drizzling rain. 
Roy, who was quite recovered from the results of his 
adventure in the cove, was most annoyed. 

“I wish we were back at the old farm,” he said one 
day, looking disconsolately out of the window at wet 
128 


In the Snow 


129 


roofs and sopping garden. “At least we knew what 
the weather was going to do there. We could plan 
our picnics and things, and always count on going. 
I don’t like your northern Christmas. It’s all humbug 
about snow. We haven’t seen so much as a flake of 
it. Give me the south side of the equator.” 

“I suppose Christmas was midsummer to you there?” 
said Peggie. “Was it hot?” 

“Rather! But we didn’t mind that in the least. We’d 
stunning times. Hadn’t we, Lu ?” 

“I should think so. Do you remember last New 
Year’s Day?” 

“What did you do?” asked Peggie. 

“We joined some neighbors and trekked up into 
the hills. We took two bullock wagons with our tents 
and blankets and kettles and prog, and the girls rode 
in them sometimes, but we boys walked all the way. 
The Johnsons, our friends, had a kraal at Mount 
Victoria. It was built just exactly like a Kafir kraal, 
with mud walls and a thatched roof, but it was clean 
inside and very cool. Every morning we used to get 
up early and go bathe in the river. We used to 
fish too, and go off shooting. It was prime!” 

“And what did the girls do ?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Mooch about the camp, I 
suppose.” 

“We didn’t!” exclaimed Louise indignantly. “We 
bathed too, and we used to hunt for wild flowers. I 
killed a snake once. It crawled into the kraal and I 
took a boot and hit it on the head. I have the skin 
still. We’d wild times at Mount Victoria. I didn’t 


130 


Captain Peggie 

want to go home to the farm. And I was more cross 
still when Dad said we were to pack up and start for 
England. Roy and I hated the idea of England.” 

“Hated England, indeed! Why?” 

“Well, you see, it was always being poked down our 
throats. Whenever I did anything Mums didn’t like 
she said: ‘You wouldn’t be allowed to do that in an 
English boarding school’.” 

“And Dad was the same,” put in Roy. “It was: 
‘Just wait till you get to an English school, my boy, 
and you’ll have a taste of the cane’, or ‘What will your 
cousins in England think of you?’ or ‘When I was a 
boy in England I never did that’.” 

“Ugh! England seemed a regular bogey-hole,” con¬ 
tinued Louise. “Roy and I made up our minds we’d 
let Dad and Mums go back alone, and we’d run away 
to Mount Victoria. We’d packed our things in the 
bullock cart, and we’d bribed our Kafir boy to go with 
us, and we’d got up very early on purpose—and then 
it all fizzled out. Davey, our Kafir boy, said he saw 
spooks, and he sat shivering under the hedge instead 
of fetching the bullocks, and then Dad got up and 
came out and found us, and there was a row, and 
Mother cried and said we should break her heart yet, 
so we unpacked all the things out of the bullock cart 
again, and didn’t go.” 

“We liked the voyage home though,” vouchsafed 
Roy. 

“Oh, yes, it was glorious on board ship! We had 
all sorts of games and sports. We used to play cricket 
with a hemp ball, and ring quoits. And we had a fancy 


In the Snow 131 

dress dance and concerts. Crossing the line was the 
biggest fun.” 

“What was that?” 

“When we reached the equator all the boys on the 
ship who had not crossed before were taken prisoners 
by the sailors. They put a big bath on deck, and one 
sailor was dressed up as Neptune, and first he pre¬ 
tended to shave the boys, he soaped their faces and 
scraped them with a piece of old iron, then he ducked 
them one after another backwards in the bath. Oh 
how most of them spluttered—specially you, Roy.” 

“I might well. They stuck a soapy brush inside 
my mouth. The sailors were all singing: 

“ ‘ Shave him and bash him, 

Duck him and splash him, 

Torture and smash him, 

And don’t let him go.’ ” 

“Yes, and then the captain pretended to have a 
wireless message from the Archbishop of Canterbury, 
to say that Father Neptune, being a pagan, ought to 
be baptized, and that it was a good opportunity to do 
it while the bath was handy, and several sailors rushed 
at him, but he struggled and fought and managed to 
get away, and the captain roared with laughter and said 
they’d never been able to christen Father Neptune yet, 
and he’d stay a pagan to the end of time.” 

“Did you stop at any foreign places on the way 
home ?” 

“Yes, at Madeira. It was lovely there. The roads 
were so steep people used to slide down them in sledges. 


132 


Captain Peggie 

And the gardens were beautiful. I never saw so many 
flowers anywhere. But we only had a peep and couldn’t 
stay. Getting into Tilbury Docks was the most ex¬ 
citing, and driving in a taxi across London to our hotel. 
I didn’t know so many houses could exist. Dad took 
us about a little in London to see things. We went to 
Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s.” 

“And to Madame Tussaud’s and to a circus,” added 
Roy. “What I liked best was driving about on the 
tops of omnibuses. The policemen were ripping too.” 

“Roy got lost once,” explained Louise, “and he was 
taken to a police station and had such a good time there 
he didn’t want to go away when Dad came to find him. 
He told the policemen all about South Africa, and they 
gave him a cup of tea and some bananas.” 

“They called me ‘Sonny’ and were awful sports,” 
confirmed Roy. 

“But what we expected in England was snow and 
frost,” went on Louise. “You see we’d read some of 
Dickens and other books about Christmas, and we 
thought December and January would be all icicles and 
skating. I put a sledge and pair of skates on my Christ¬ 
mas list, but Dad laughed and said: ‘Wait till you want 
them’. He gave me a new camera instead. Do you 
ever go tobogganing here?” 

“We’ve only had it once that I can remember.” 

“Well, I think the climate must have changed, or 
else the old writers were humbugs. We tell Dad he 
ought to take us to Switzerland, or to Norway, or to 
the North Pole. He’s bribed us to come to England 
on false pretences. It’s been nothing but rain, rain, 


In the Snow 


133 


rain, and drizzle, drizzle, drizzle, this last week. It's 
a country for mackintoshes and goloshes. Ugh! I’m 
sick of it all.” 

All things come to those who wait, however, and 
when the last week of the holidays began the weather 
suddenly changed, and a cold snap set in. Arctic winds, 
presumably from the North Pole, sent the temperature 
below freezing-point, and white rime on the trees and 
icicles hanging on the pump proclaimed a real old- 
fashioned orthodox English season of Yule. Better 
still, it began to snow. For a whole night thick flakes 
came whirling down, and when the Ropers awoke in 
the morning they found a white world. Louise and 
Roy were nearly wild with excitement. They ran into 
the garden, made their first snowballs, and pelted one 
another, then, tempted by the beauty of the prospect of 
the distant hills and woods in their wintry covering, 
nothing would content them but to go at once for a 
long walk. They would not wait for their cousins, but 
set off immediately after breakfast that they might 
climb out of the valley and get the view over the coun¬ 
try while the sun still shone and glistened on the snow. 
After their life in the Transvaal they were most in¬ 
dependent young people, and used to rambling where 
they pleased and taking care of themselves. They 
stopped on their way at a shop, and bought buns and 
chocolate which they put in their pockets, and with 
this provision to ward off hunger they intended to stay 
out as long as they liked. They each carried a large 
wooden box-lid upon which they hoped to do some 
tobogganing if a suitable place could be found. 


*34 


Captain Peggie 

“We won’t go home too soon,” proclaimed Roy. 

“Rather not! While the snow’s here we’ll make the 
most of it and have our fun. Let’s go right up the hill, 
and then explore the woods. Oh, I say, isn’t it 
glorious ?” 

They had left the town behind them and were on a 
road that led steadily upwards between hedges and 
fields. Every leaf and blade of grass was covered with 
glittering hoar-frost, little fir trees gleamed like silver, 
and the meadows were masses of pure white untrodden 
snow. Flocks of hungry birds flew overhead, and 
thrushes and redwings were fighting for berries in the 
hawthorn bushes. The crisp invigorating air made 
walking easy, and Louise and Roy soon reached the 
summit above the town. From here the view was 
magnificent. They could see miles of country spread¬ 
ing before them, with woods and common and a grey 
river winding its way in the far distance. Abandoning 
the road they climbed a fence, crossed some fields, 
and entered a copse which led into a small ravine. It 
was fun scrambling down among rocks and trees, 
shaking showers of snow on their heads as they clutched 
at the branches. There was a little waterfall at the 
bottom all hung with icicles, a most beautiful sight, 
as if the frost fairies had been busy there during the 
night. Farther on there was a fence from the copse 
bordering a steep uninterrupted slope of field, so over 
they climbed. 

“We ought to be able to toboggan here,” said Louise 
joyfully. 

“You bet we’ll try,” agreed Roy. 


In the Snow 


135 


So they started, and after a good many tumbles and 
much experimenting they discovered the right way 
to use their improvised sleds, and had many glorious 
slides down the slope, climbing up to the top again 
rather panting, but with crimson cheeks. It was hungry 
work, and they sat down presently on some stones and 
ate all the buns, wishing they had brought more with 
them. 

‘‘I don’t want to go home yet though,” said Roy. 

“Not a bit of it. We’ll stay out as long as we can 
while we’re here. Suppose we go right down this gorge 
below and try and climb on to that hill across over 
there. It looks as if it would be prime for tobogganing.” 

Roy was in a mood for adventure and ready to go 
anywhere, so the pair started upon another scramble, 
down a valley, and alongside a brook, and up into a 
wood till they found an even better place down which 
they could slide. How long they stayed they did not 
know, for time seemed no object, but at last it occurred 
to Louise that perhaps they ought to be turning home¬ 
wards. The blue sky of the morning had changed to 
grey, the sun was hidden now behind clouds, and a 
few white snowflakes were beginning to fall. They 
must have wandered a very long way from the road, 
and it would need much scrambling to retrace the route 
by which they had come. It was difficult to persuade 
Roy to leave, and more difficult still to get him along; 
he stopped for any excuse, to break icicles, to jump 
over fallen tree trunks, or to throw snowballs into the 
frozen stream. And meantime the snow was falling 
faster. It came whirling down from a white sky in 


136 


Captain Peggie 

large soft flakes that quickly laid an extra covering 
over the ground. The footsteps by which Louise was 
endeavoring to find their path back were soon un- 
traceable. 

“We must hurry on, Roy,” she said. “Do you 
remember where we came down into the wood?” 

“Along there somewhere I think. Weren’t there 
some fir trees?” 

“Oh, no! I believe it was much farther.” 

“There was a rock.” 

“Well, there’s no rock up there.” 

Faster and faster came the snowflakes, whirling 
round till trees and everything seemed blotted out in a 
wall of white. In all their South African adventures 
the Ropers had never encountered any experience so 
bewildering as this. They groped their way blindly 
on uphill, hoping somehow to reach the road. Then 
all of a sudden Roy, who was slightly ahead, slipped 
on a loosened stone, clung desperately to a rotten bough 
which broke in his hand, and tumbled rolling over and 
over till his fall was broken by the bole of a tree. 
Louise scrambled to him through the snow. 

“Are you hurt, Roy? What is it?” 

Her brother was sitting up and rubbing his foot. 

“Strained my ankle I believe. It feels precious queer. 
I wonder whether I can stand on it. Oh! I say, it does 
hurt.” 

Here was a castastrophe! Out in the thick wood, 
among whirling, blinding snow, their path lost, the 
night falling fast, and Roy scarcely able to limp along. 
To climb higher was impossible. 


In the Snow 


137 


“Let us go down again and follow the stream,” said 
Louise. “It must lead somewhere, and perhaps we 
shall find a farm or a cottage. Take my arm and I’ll 
help you.” 

Slowly and painfully they made their way back into 
the gorge and began to follow the course of the little 
brook. It was hopeless, they knew, to sit down in the 
snow. At all costs they must push on towards shelter. 
Darker and darker grew the wood, and quicker and 
bigger whirled the snowflakes. 

“Lu! I don’t believe I can go any farther,” said 
Roy, at last. “You’d better hurry on and leave me.” 

“Leave you!! A nice idea. I certainly shan’t do 
that. We’ll stick together anyhow whatever happens. 
Hello! What’s this in front of us? It looks like a 
cottage. Come on, Roy, just a few steps.” 

Encouraged by the hope of getting help Roy managed 
to limp a little farther. They had reached what was 
certainly a cottage, though whether it was inhabited 
or not seemed doubtful. No light gleamed in the little 
window and the door was padlocked. They both 
shouted, but no one replied. Apparently the place was 
quite shut up and deserted. 

“We’ve got to get inside somehow,” murmured 
Louise. 

She examined the door and found the framework so 
rotton that by the aid of a stone they were able to 
knock the staple of the padlock from the decayed wood 
and to wrench it out. Desperate need gave them in¬ 
genuity and strength. They pushed open the door and 
entered. Everything within was dark and silent. 


i3 8 Captain Peggie 

“Wait a sec. I believe I have my flash in my pocket,” 
said Roy. 

After much fumbling he produced an electric torch 
and turned on the switch. By its light they could see 
the interior of the deserted cottage. It had long ago 
been abandoned for living purposes, but was evidently 
used as a storehouse, for a heap of turnips lay on the 
floor, and at the far side was a great pile of dried ferns, 
probably placed there as reserve bedding for cattle. 
It was at least a refuge from the storm and the gathering 
darkness outside, and they thankfully shut the door 
and took shelter. Roy pulled off his boot to ease his 
foot, which had swollen considerably, and with his 
sister’s help dragged down a quantity of fern for couch 
and coverlet. The torch was waxing feeble and could 
not last long. Very soon they would find themselves 
in the dark. 

“We shall have to stop the night here,” said Roy. 

“I wonder what they’re thinking of us at home,” said 
Louise, with a sudden lump in her throat. 

To the young South Africans, accustomed to camp¬ 
ing, and to many experiences in the bush, a night in 
the deserted cottage was no very out-of-the-way adven¬ 
ture. They decided that as soon as it was light they 
would be able to find their way to some farm, and mean¬ 
while they would make the best of the circumstances, 
and keep themselves warm with bundles of bracken. 
They were so hungry that they each took a turnip to 
eat, and lay among the ferns munching their rather hard 
and indigestible supper till Louise’s sense of humor 
made her burst out laughing. 


In the Snow 


139 


“We’re like bullocks in a stable chumping our mangel- 
wurzels. Or the ox and the ass on a Christmas card.” 

“You’re the ass then,” grunted Roy sulkily. His 
ankle was hurting more than ever, and his temper was 
always his weak point . Moreover he remembered that 
at home there would be mince-pies for supper. 

“It’s your fault for insisting on going so far,” he 
finished. 

“Well, I like that! It was you who wouldn’t hurry 
back. And then you were clumsy enough to slip and 
fall. We should have climbed up into the road but for 
that.” 

“Oh, put it all on to me!” 

“I shan’t speak to you again, cross patch. I’m tired 
and I’m going to sleep. Ugh! It’s very cold.” 

Lying among the bracken in the lonely cottage the 
pair slept and woke in the dark, and slept again, until 
at length the night wore itself out and a faint, a very 
faint, dawn began to show outlines of objects. Louise 
sat up and looked around her. The principal light 
seemed to be coming from a pane of glass in the roof, 
and not from the little window at the side. It dis¬ 
closed a large barn-like room, with a loft at one end. 
In the big fire-place were some charred sticks and ashes, 
the remains of a former fire, a few coils of rope hung 
on the walls, but all furniture or traces of human habi¬ 
tation had long since been removed. Louise, feeling 
very stiff, rose from her fern-bed and threw open the 
door. To her surprise she saw nothing but a great wall 
of snow, some of which began at once to fall into the 


140 Captain Peggie 

house. She shut the door again with difficulty, and 
turned to her brother who had awakened at the noise. 

“Roy,” she said, with a catch in her voice, “we’re 
snowed up.” 

Roy limped painfully across the floor to inspect for 
himself, but there was no doubt about the matter, door 
and window were buried in a deep mass of snow which 
had drifted during the night and piled itself against 
the front of the cottage. To make a way through it 
would be impossible, for it seemed to be high above 
their heads. For all practical purposes they were in a 
white prison. They looked at one another with scared 
faces. They were cold and hungry, and the prospect 
of remaining captives until the snow melted was ap¬ 
palling. 

“I suppose Dad will come to hunt for us,” faltered 
Roy. 

“Yes, but he won’t know where to look, and probably 
they’ll never find this cottage,” answered Louise, with 
a shiver. 

“What must we do ?” 

“There’s nothing for it but to stop where we are. 
We can’t get out through that drift.” 

They each had another turnip for breakfast and a 
handful of snow instead of a drink. As the day went 
on the light grew a trifle brighter, though the glass 
pane in the roof was obscured with a coating of snow. 
Louise found a ladder, and placing it against the loft 
went to explore. After feeling about on the floor she 
gave a joyful exclamation. 

“What have you found there ?” called Roy. 


In the Snow 


141 

“Onions! A whole heap of them. I’ll bring some 
down. They’ll be a change from turnips anyway. 
Thank goodness we needn’t quite starve.” 

It was something indeed to have food of any kind, 
and a shelter. Whether it was yet snowing outside they 
had no means of judging: the white wall still blocked 
the door and the lower window. 

“If only we could make a fire” mourned Louise. 
I’ll never go out again without a box of matches in 
my pocket—never!” 

“The electric torch is done too, so we’ve no more 
light,” said Roy. 

Very, very slowly the hours passed. It must have 
been about three o’clock when Louise, who, to try and 
keep warm, was moving about the cottage, began to 
investigate the old fire-place, and putting her hand up 
the wide chimney made a discovery. On a ledge among 
the bricks lay a box of matches! No diamonds, rubies, 
or pearls could have been so welcome. To the im¬ 
prisoned pair they were more than untold gold. Not 
only did they represent warmth, but possible escape, 
for smoke rising from the chimney might reveal their 
presence in the cottage to someone outside. They 
heaped bracken into the fire-place and tried to strike 
a match. Alas! it was damp and only gave a feeble 
fizzle. The second and the third match met with a like 
fate. Then Louise remembered a little piece of camp 
lore to the effect that damp matches can be dried by 
rubbing them in your hair. She tried the experiment, 
and oh, joy! the fourth match blazed into a brief flame, 
just sufficient to kindle a piece of the bracken. In a 


142 


Captain Peggie 

few minutes the pile was alight and smoke was pouring 
up the wide chimney. 

The warmth was most grateful and cheering, it 
seemed almost like a human presence. They knelt close 
by with their hands to the blaze, for the moment ardent 
fire-worshippers. 

Suddenly Louise sprang to her feet and listened. 

“I thought I heard a shout,” she said. “Very far 
off. Oh, there it is again! They’ve come to find us. 
Call, Roy, call! Let us both shout together.” 

The smoking chimney had evidently betrayed their 
whereabouts, for after another lapse of time during 
which help was probably fetched, there came a noise 
of shovelling and scraping, as if spades were digging 
through the drift. The daylight was waning, but pres¬ 
ently a lantern flashed outside, and through a tunnel in. 
the snow a man descended and cleared the door. 

“Are you all right here?” he asked, as he entered 
the cottage. “We’ve been looking for you since day¬ 
break. We’d never have thought of the old shed if 
we hadn’t seen the smoke. Hello, sonny! Sprained 
your ankle? That’s bad business. We shall have to 
carry you I suppose. It’s a mercy you managed to 
break this place open and get inside last night. We 
thought you were buried somewhere in the woods. 
Come on, both of you, we’ll soon have you home now.” 

Search parties from the town and from the country 
round about, including bands of Boy Scouts, had been 
hunting everywhere for the wanderers. It had been 
most difficult to trace them, for few people had seen 
them, and it was scarcely known in what direction they 


In the Snow 


T 43 


had started. Moreover the snow had hidden all their 
tracks. A laborer had reported noticing them tobog¬ 
ganing down a slope on the previous morning, and 
from that scanty clue the rescuers had been led to the 
gorge. By a prearranged signal shots were fired to let 
other searchers know that the missing pair had been 
found. Louise and Roy were taken to a farm near, 
and comforted with hot tea and a meal, after which they 
were driven back to town along snowy roads in the 
farmer’s gig. 

It was the look in her mother’s eyes and the sight 
of her father’s white face when, worn out with tramp¬ 
ing the hills, he returned to rejoice over the recovery 
of his children that made Louise realize the agony her 
parents had undergone during the night and day that 
they had been lost. The old Louise was inclined to be 
proud of her adventure, but the new and more thought¬ 
ful Louise saw the other side of it all. 

'‘We’ve had a real taste of an English winter,” 
boasted Roy, resting his sprained ankle on the sofa. 
“I wouldn’t have missed that snowstorm for worlds 
—now I’m back. It’s something to talk about, isn’t it ? 
Specially when it’s over.” 

“Ye-e-s! It’s over—for us. But I don’t think 
Daddy and Mums will ever quite forget it,” said Louise 
slowly. “Roy, I never knew before that they cared 
so awfully about us. It makes me feel I want to do 
something for them . A family is a wonderful thing. 
Peggie’s always rubbing Bronte into me, and calling it 
a big family. I didn’t understand what she meant—I 
do now.” 


CHAPTER XI 


Louise Explores 

Captain Peggie returned to Somerton on the 22nd 
of January, more than ever determined to make the 
name of Bronte shine in the annals of the college. The 
house team had not done its duty yet on the hocky field, 
and must be urged to greater efforts, and there were 
several other “distinctions” that might be gained and 
ought to be gained if everybody would take the trouble 
to try for them. The laurels to be picked during the 
spring term were of a rather different kind from those 
culled at Christmas. Among the girls it was generally 
called the “culture term”, because Miss Penrose, con¬ 
sidering the school had had enough fun over the Decem¬ 
ber plays, dropped the drama in favor of art and music. 
There were lectures and recitals given at the school by 
professionals, and there were special classes held to 
study the lives and works of celebrated painters and 
composers. Each house started “study sheets”—large 
pieces of water-color paper upon which any girls who 
were clever at drawing or painting copied photographs 
or pictures having a relation to the special subject. 
Several girls might combine to produce one of these 
sheets, and an exhibition of them would be held in the 
144 


Louise Explores H5 

big studio, later on, when “distinctions” would be given 
for the best. 

First on the list of lectures came “Modern Europe 
and its Political Re-adjustment” by Professor Bruce- 
Forsyth, M.A., a rather stiff subject at which the school 
was inclined to “jib”, but which Miss Penrose said 
was “a necessary part of the education of every woman 
who would ultimately have a vote.” So the embryo 
citizens of the empire were marched to the large hall, 
and took their places in readiness for instruction on 
European politics, whispering to one another, while 
they waited, upon matters of much less depth, until 
warnings from prefects and teachers produced an in¬ 
stant hush. The professor was coming. His foot¬ 
steps resounded already along the corridor. Every eye 
was ready to mark his advent, and every pupil was pre¬ 
pared to rise courteously at his entrance, according to 
the custom of the college. The door was flung open 
by Miss Penrose, looking large and important, and with 
rustling skirts. 

“Young ladies! Professor Bruce-Forsyth!” she an¬ 
nounced. 

Now the floor of the hall was highly polished and as 
slippery as glass: the lecturer ought certainly to have 
been warned about it. Instead of making a dignified 
and impressive entry, the poor little old professor, pre¬ 
ceded by a shower of books and papers, skated into 
the room on his hands and knees, sliding quite a con¬ 
siderable distance up the aisle towards the platform. 
It was so totally unexpected and so very surprising 
that I grieve to say some of the girls began to laugh, 


146 Captain Peggie 

though the next moment they remembered their 
manners and checked themselves. Miss Penrose flew 
to the assistance of the unfortunate lecturer, helped 
him to his feet, ascertained that he was not seriously 
injured, and bore him away for some creature comfort 
until he should be sufficiently recovered and calmed to 
deliver his discourse. 

He returned at the end of about ten minutes, walking 
with wary footsteps, and ascended the platform in 
safety. Some of the elder girls were interested in his 
subject, but it was above the heads of the generality. 
He was one of those withered little leaves of the tree 
of knowledge that seem lacking in sap; he had bitten 
deeply into the bread of learning, and had apparently 
found it indigestible provender, to judge by the dry¬ 
ness of his mental outlook. He talked in a big booming 
voice like a fog-horn, emphasizing his remarks by raps 
upon the desk, giving much technical information about 
the boundaries of Poland, Hungary, and Czecho¬ 
slovakia and the importance of preserving the balance 
of power in Europe. Peggie, who found it all dread¬ 
fully dull, was amazed to see Louise and her neighbor 
Joyce jotting down notes with the utmost diligence. 
It was a surprising development for Louise, and Peggie 
wondered what could possibly have inspired her cousin 
to show such an interest in foreign politics. 

“You liked the professor’s lecture?” she asked curi¬ 
ously afterwards. 

“Couldn’t understand a single word of what he was 
driving at, stupid old duffer,” replied Louise ir¬ 
reverently. 


Louise Explores H7 

Then what were you taking notes about ?” 

“/ taking notes?” 

“Yes, you and Joyce were scribbling hard all the 
time.” 

Louise threw back her head and laughed. 

“We were playing a game,” she confessed. “I’ll 
teach it to you, Pegs, because it comes in very handy 
when one has these dull lectures. I bagged ‘even’ and 
Joyce bagged ‘odd’. We waited until the professor 
got to the end of a sentence, then we wrote down his 
last word, and counted the number of letters in it. If 
they were even I scored, and if they were odd Joyce 
did. You’ve no idea what sport it is. I won by twenty- 
three points. I hadn’t time to listen to the tiresome 
old lecture, I was busy waiting for last words. I ad¬ 
vise you to try it. It’s ever such fun.” 

“Louise Roper, you are the absolute limit,” burst 
out Peggie. “Nobody but you would have had the im¬ 
pudence to make up such a game in school. Suppose 
Miss Howard looks at your notebook?” 

“She won’t We’re not to be questioned about the 
lecture. I found that out beforehand. Besides, I’ve 
got all the last words down, and I could put little 
squiggles in front of them like shorthand and say it’s 
a private phonetic system of my own, you know.” 

“Private rubbish! It wouldn’t take Miss Howard in. 
She’s no simple babe.” 

“Well, it’s always possible to lose one’s notes. Don’t 
worry, Peg o’ my Heart, I shan’t get into hot water 
this time, though I own I’d as soon Miss Howard 
didn’t tackle me on the subject.” 


148 


Captain Peggie 

Miss Howard, Louise’s form mistress, was of a 
rather big and bullying type, with large teeth and a 
“toothy” pronunciation. Teaching was not really her 
vocation, in spite of excellent degrees, and girls to her 
were nothing but the necessary nuisances by means of 
which she earned her daily bread. She was not fond 
of Louise, indeed she regarded her as the fire-brand of 
the form, and was inclined to lay more to her charge 
than was always quite fair. It was easier, when things 
went wrong, to turn upon the general scapegoat and pre¬ 
sume that she was at the bottom of the mischief, than 
to trouble to investigate the matter, and as nine times 
out of ten Louise was implicated, she naturally received 
the blame of the tenth time as well. 

On the morning after Professor Bruce-Forsyth’s 
lecture, some of the members of IIIb were early in 
their classroom. There would have been plenty for 
them to do in the way of taking last looks at not-too- 
well-prepared subjects, but they put their books inside 
their desks and started ragging. Minnie Allison, of 
Cavell, and Jean Hawtree, of Nightingale, had an old- 
established feud with Louise, and there were certain 
scores which they wished to pay back. The fun began 
in quite a mild and good-natured manner till Minnie 
dropped pencil shavings down Louise’s back. These 
were scratchy and uncomfortable; Louise tried to 
retaliate; Jean came to the defence of Minnie and the 
two together pushed Louise by main force irjto the 
book cupboard and locked the door upon her. lSJow 
this cupboard was Miss Howard’s sacred shrine, into 
which she alone, as priestess, was permitted to enter. 


Louise Explores 149 

She kept exercise books on the shelves, and ink, and 
maps, and colored chalks, and other school necessaries 
which were given out as occasion demanded, but were 
never to be touched by the sacrilegious fingers of the 
girls. To be a prisoner in this “holy of holies” was a 
doubtful experience, and to be caught inside it would 
be as compromising as being detected in the Mint or 
in the strong room of the Bank of England. Louise, 
very upset and angry, thumped loudly against the door. 
Nobody likes to be shut up, and she had an almost gipsy 
horror of being trapped. 

“Let me out! Let me out!” she shouted. 

But Minnie and Jean, on the other side, only giggled 
and triumphed. “Who’s got the better now?” 

“You’re locked into the den of lions.” 

“I can roar though and I’ll scratch if you don’t mind.” 

“You can’t touch us through the door.” 

“Oh, can’t I? We’ll just see about that.” 

In the top of the door there was a ventilator, made 
of laths of wood that sloped outwards and downwards. 
It admitted a little light, and now Louise’s eyes were 
accustomed to the gloom she could manage to distin¬ 
guish objects inside the cupboard. There was a stool 
for reaching to the top shelf, and just behind her there 
was a big bottle of ink. She uncorked this, and climb¬ 
ing on the stool reached the level of the ventilator. 

“Will you let me out,” she demanded again in imperi¬ 
ous tones. 

“Not till you ask prettily,” sniggered a voice below. 

“Then take this.” 

And through the shafts of the ventilator poured a 


150 Captain Peggie 

stream of Stephens’ best blue-black ink, splashing the 
bobbed flaxen hair of Jean and the upturned face of 
Minnie, and trickling in a broad track down the door. 
At that most inauspicious moment Miss Howard 
entered the room. Minnie had the presence of mind 
to turn the key and open the door before she fled to 
her desk, thereby disclosing Louise, mounted upon the 
stool, with the tell-tale ink bottle still in her hand. For 
a moment there was an awful silence. The teacher, 
too much overcome to speak, seemed to choke with 
indignation, but she soon recovered her voice and used 
it with much effect. As one of the girls said afterwards, 
“Some people get quite eloquent when they’re angry.” 

Miss Howard, judging the culprit had been caught 
red-handed, and not knowing that she had been locked 
into the cupboard, made no inquiries, and blamed Louise 
alone. After pouring forth a hot tirade of wrath she 
finished: 

“You’re not fit to be in a ladies’ school. Anything 
more unladylike I never saw. Look at the door. Look at 
your companions. Minnie and Jean, go and wash your¬ 
selves. Eileen, take the duster and wipe up that mess. 
Louise will write five hundred lines as a punishment, 
and will stay in for the next two Saturday afternoons. 
Now, not a word. I don’t wish anybody to interfere. 
Be quiet and go to your desks.” 

Several girls had been on the verge of offering some 
excuse for Louise, and shifting part of the burden of 
blame on to Minnie and Jean, but those astute damsels 
had beaten a hasty retreat and the code of the form 
forbade “sneaking” against the absent. Moreover when 


Louise Explores 15 1 

Miss Howard said “not a word” she meant it, and woe 
betide the unfortunate who ventured to raise her voice 
in protest. Even Louise herself, interviewed after¬ 
wards at an indignation meeting, admitted they could 
not have helped her. 

“When Miss Howard goes off the deep end there’s 
no stopping her,” she sighed philosophically. “She 
was judge and jury and gave the verdict all in a minute 
and she won’t listen to any appeal. It makes no differ¬ 
ence. May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I 
should have got five hundred in any case. I mind the 
Saturdays much more. It’s stupid hanging about the 
house when everyone is out. But if it can’t be helped 
it can’t, and there’s an end of it.” 

It was not quite the end of it however. Minnie and 
Jean, raggers though they were, had some vestiges of 
consciences. They considered Louise was a “sport” 
not to have accused them to Miss Howard, and they cast 
about in their minds how they could make it up to her. 
They could not write her five hundred lines, but they 
might ameliorate the other part of her punishment. 

“We must each stay in next Saturday afternoon, 
Jean,” decreed Minnie. “Oh, it’s easy enough to have 
a little headache or a cold. Then we must both ask 
leave to go to Bronte with a message. We’ll stop as 
long as we dare and cheer Louise up. She can be quite 
surprised to see us.” 

“Oh, very surprised,” twinkled Louise. 

“Right-o, we’ll come. I expect Miss Sheppard will 
let us stay a while and not be nasty about it.” 

It was really quite a heroic self-sacrifice for Minnie 


i5 2 Captain Peggie 

and Jean to give up that Saturday afternoon, but as 
honor demanded it they were loyal to Louise. With 
little difficulty they framed excuses, and received per¬ 
mission from their hostel matrons to visit Bronte for 
the purpose of returning borrowed books. Louise 
received them gleefully. 

“Everybody’s out—even Miss Sheppard,” she said. 
“Come in. Nobody will forbid the banns. I wasn’t 
told I mightn’t have visitors, and if you have leave 
you’re within bounds. So why not?” 

“I’ve never been inside Bronte before,” giggled 
Minnie, looking round curiously. 

“No more have I,” said Jean. “What are your 
dormitories like?” 

“I’ll show you round the house if you care to see 
it,” volunteered Louise. “We think it’s A i.” 

So they began a tour of inspection and she showed 
them the dining-hall, and the recreation-room, and the 
dormitories, and the bathrooms; and Minnie and Jean 
admitted they had points, but considered Cavell and 
Nightingale were far superior. 

“Ours is the most modern house of all; it has the 
very latest improvements,” said Minnie. 

“Nightingale is the next newest. I shouldn’t like 
these low rooms. The house must be very old,” said 
Jean. 

“Old! Of course it’s old!” retorted Louise. “That’s 
what we’re so proud of about it. It was the manor at 
Somerton hundreds of years before the college was 
ever dreamt of. It’s an ancient Tudor house, or Stuart 


Louise Explores 153 

at any rate. It has the date 1678 carved over the back 
door. Think of the people who must have lived in it.” 

“Ugh! I should fancy ghosts. Do you ever see 
any ?” 

“No, I can’t say we have ever seen any.” (Louise’s 
voice sounded almost regretful.) “But, as Peggie 
says, there’s an ‘atmosphere’ about an old house. You 
always feel you may hear the swish of hooped skirts 
and catch a glimpse of powder and patches some day.” 

“Old houses sometimes have secret hiding-places.” 

“I know. I haven’t heard of one here. And yet— 
there’s something I’ve been wanting to investigate only 
I’ve never had time. I wonder if you’d care to help 
me?” 

“What is it?” 

“Well, I’ve often thought there might be a space 
between Dormitory 3 and Dormitory 4. The passage 
looks so long, but when you go inside the rooms 
they’re not as big as you’d expect. Suppose we take 
a yard-tape and measure the walls, first in the passage 
and then inside the two rooms. Will you hold the tape 
at one end?” 

“Certainly, if you like.” 

“I have one in my raffia basket. Bother! I left it 
in school at sewing. Well, I shall borrow Joyce’s. 
She won’t mind. Have you a pencil and paper, Jean? 
Then you shall write down the measurements. We’ll 
begin at the door of No. 3.” 

The girls set to work as systematically as land sur¬ 
veyors. They measured the passage between the doors 
of No. 3 and 4. Then they measured the corresponding 


154 


Captain Peggie 

inside walls of the two dormitories. The results showed 
a discrepancy. While the passage was 28 ft. from door 
to door, No. 3 was 10 ft. and No. 4 was 12 ft. Now 
12 + 10 = 22, which left a space of 6 ft. unaccounted 
for. Louise drew it carefully out on a plan: 


Dormitory 4 

Space 

Dormitory 3 

, Wall, 12 ft. 


Wall, 10 ft. | 


door. 


Passage 28 ft. 


door. 


There was not the slightest doubt that a considerable 
gap must lie between the two dormitories. The dis¬ 
covery was most thrilling. Could it be a cupboard? 
Or a cistern-room? Or even a secret hiding-place? 
The house was old, and ancient manors sometimes 
possessed such retreats for time of need. Where was 
the entrance to it? The girls, with renewed vigilance, 
searched the inside partition walls of the dormitories 
to try and find a concealed door. If such had ever 
existed it had long ago been sealed up and papered over. 
There was not a trace of anything of the kind to be 
found. They made another experiment. Minnie and 
Jean stood by the partition wall of No. 4 while Louise 
in No. 3 knocked loudly at what would be the other 
side if there were no space between. Her raps could 
hardly be heard, proving conclusively that the gap of 
6 ft. must exist. Fearfully excited, the girls deliberated 
as to any other possible means of investigation. 





Louise Explores 155 

“I know! Let’s try the attic,” said Louise at last. 

This was a part of the house that was certainly not 
free to schoolgirls, but they felt the exigencies of the 
case ought to give them a passport. Something worth 
finding out might be upstairs and their curiosity could 
not be curbed. So aloft they went up the forbidden 
staircase, creeping past the servants’ bedrooms in case 
of a surprise from one of the housemaids, and going 
along the landing to the boxroom. Piles of trunks were 
stored here for the term, but there was a passage be¬ 
tween them leading to another and smaller door. It 
was fastened by bolts, but these were easily slid back. 
The room beyond was pitch dark and apparently empty. 
Louise went in a little way, but as she could see nothing 
she returned. 

“We want a light,” she declared. “Wait for me here, 
and I’ll go and fetch one.” 

She returned in a short time with the lantern which 
was used at Bronte to escort the girls to rehearsals at 
the big recreation hall on dark nights. She had also 
brought matches and kindled the candle inside. Rather 
fearfully the girls began to explore. There was noth¬ 
ing in this attic except a few pieces of lumber, but it 
contained another door leading into a further “Blue¬ 
beard’s Chamber”. 

“What a waste of good space,” said Louise. “I 
wish Miss Sheppard would let us use one of these for 
a dark-room. We can’t do our photos properly in the 
bathroom. Hello! What’s this ?” 

She had been poking about as she spoke, lantern in 
hand, and now fell on her knees to examine the floor. 


i 5 6 Captain Peggie 

“A trap door, by all that's wonderful!” she exclaimed. 
There was fortunately a ring in it, so after several 
mighty tugs the girls managed to lift it. Louise held 
the lantern and peered into the pitch dark depths below. 

“Now the question is whether we’re looking into 
the secret room or not,” she said. “We must test it. 
Minnie will you go downstairs and knock on our doubt¬ 
ful 6 ft. of wall and Jean and I will listen if we hear 
you ?” 

Minnie departed to do the errand, and in a short 
time several very brisk and decided taps resounded 
below. 

“O-o-h! It sounds like spirit-rapping,” shivered 
Jean, who was rather nervous in her dim surroundings. 

“Spirit-rubbish! Hello, Minnie! Is that you?” 

A faint “Hello” in response quite established the 
connection. There seemed absolutely no doubt that 
they had found the entrance to some hitherto unknown 
and hidden chamber. 

But rooms are not usually entered from the roof, 
and to investigate their find was another matter. 

“I’m going down to see what’s there if I die for 
it,” said Louise stoutly. “Wait for me while I fetch 
something I want.” 

“Don’t be too long. It’s creepy here,” begged Jean. 

“I’ll be as quick as I can. You may keep the lantern. 
Here’s Minnie, anyhow.” 

Louise came back chuckling and armed with a large 
and thick coil of rope and a board. 

“What do you think it is?” she asked. “Why, it’s 
the swing. It was stored away for the winter in the 


Louise Explores 15 7 

tool-house, so I just borrowed it. I’ll sit on the seat 
and you must each hold one of the ropes and lower 
me. 

“Easier said then done,” hesitated Minnie. 

“Oh, nonsense, you can! Don’t be a gubbins.” 

As Minnie had prophesied, it was not a particularly 
easy performance, but it was managed at last, and 
Louise, clinging tightly to the ropes and holding fast 
the lantern, was somehow lowered into the room below. 
She went with a run the last few feet, and plumped on 
to a particularly dusty floor. Luckily her lantern did 
not go out, neither was she hurt, so she jumped up 
and began to explore. The little chamber was about 
6 feet by 10 feet, and had probably originally been a 
dressing-room, or possibly a powdering-room in the 
days when it was the fashion to have white hair. There 
was an evident door leading to Dormitory 4, which 
must have been blocked up and papered over on the 
other side. There was an old bureau at one end, with 
several drawers. Louise opened these and saw bundles 
of faded letters and some garments that had belonged 
to a little child, a tiny shoe, a lace-edged cap, a muslin 
dress, and a pink silk sash; there were a few toys too, 
an ancient wooden doll, dressed in a fashion of long 
ago, a ball, some miniature teacups and saucers, and 
some carved wooden animals. She shut the drawers 
with rather a gulp in her throat. They were unmis- 
takeably the treasures that a mother lays by when a 
dearly loved little one has crossed the divide and needs 
its toys no longer. There had been a similar drawer 


158 Captain Peggie 

in her South African home, where a wee sister had 
once come and gone again. How long was it since the 
owner of the lace-edged cap and the pink silk sash had 
played with that wooden doll? A century and a half 
at least must have passed away, and the names of 
mother and child were alike forgotten. 

‘‘What have you found?” asked Minnie and Jean, 
who were peeping through the trap door above. 

“All sorts of interesting things.” 

“I don’t think we dare stay any longer. We must 
be getting back or there’ll be squalls. Shall we pull you 
up again now ?” 

“I suppose you’d better.” 

When they tried however they found it is one thing 
to lower a substantial girl of thirteen, and quite another 
matter to haul her back. Louise was no light weight, 
and Minnie’s and Jean’s combined strength was quite 
inadequate to lift her. They made several attempts, 
but after a few feet they dropped her again each time. 

“You’re too heavy for us. What’s to be done?” they 
called down anxiously. 

It was a most awkward predicament. Certainly 
Louise could not be abandoned and left in the secret 
room, yet to fetch help meant to confess all they had 
done. They had hoped to be able to shut the trap-door 
again and return to their own houses without being 
involved in any trouble. 

“There’s nothing for it but to go and see if Miss 
Sheppard has come back,” groaned Louise, who had 


Louise Explores *59 

found the succession of flops on to the floor a painful 
experience. 

Minnie and Jean, aghast and grumbling, groped their 
way across the two dark rooms to the boxroom, and 
from thence downstairs, where after a hunt in what 
was to them a strange house, they eventually found 
the hostel mistress, who had just returned. She at 
once took a candle and went with them to the attic. 
After peeping down through the trap-door and ascer¬ 
taining the depth below, she left Jean and Minnie to 
cheer the prisoner and departed to find some means of 
extricating her. It seemed a very long time before she 
returned, bringing two gardeners who carried a short 
ladder. This they managed to lower into the little 
chamber and placed firmly in position, whereupon a 
most dusty Louise climbed thankfully forth. 

Naturally the discovery of the secret room made an 
immense sensation in the college. Miss Penrose her¬ 
self came to investigate, descended the ladder, and re¬ 
moved the contents of the bureau, bringing them up in 
a large basket. From the bundle of letters, dated 1770 
to 1795, she judged that the little garments and toys 
belonged to the late eighteenth century; they were ob¬ 
jects of very great interest, as such articles are rarely 
preserved for such a length of time, and she caused 
them to be placed in the school museum, where the 
girls crowded in to look at them. 

Louise, Minnie, and Jean, owing to the extreme 
value of their exploration, did not get into the trouble 


J 6 o Captain Peggie 

they deserved, and indeed were rather the heroines of 
the occasion. 

“ I wish V d found it!” sighed Captain Peggie. “Why 
didn’t / notice the passage was longer than the rooms 
and measure them? I never even thought about it. 
It seems to me other people do all the nice things at 
Bronte, and I never get a look in. I’d have given worlds 
to have the credit of this. Louise is a clever little 
person; there’s no doubt about it—a handful, of course, 
but still decidedly clever.” 


CHAPTER XII 


A Lantern Conference 

If the subject chosen by Professor Bruce-Forsyth 
appeared dull to some of his hearers, there were other 
lecturers that term who made amends. 

There was Mr. Broadway, who gave a most delight¬ 
ful series of lantern lessons on Early Italian Art, and 
showed slides of beautiful pictures by Botticelli, and 
Raphael, and Michael Angelo, and Fra Angelico, and 
Titian, and Correggio, and other painters whose names 
had been unknown to the girls until they were intro¬ 
duced to these masterpieces. Then there were lectures 
on musical appreciation, with illustrations on the piano 
by Miss Mena Duncan, a gold medallist of the Royal 
Academy of Music, who had an exquisitely delicate 
touch, and taught her audience how to enjoy the works 
of the great composers. Best of all was a recital given 
by Signor Caviano, a brilliant Italian pianist, who was 
performing at the concert hall at Baddesley Wells, and 
was persuaded by Miss Penrose to come to Somerton 
College and hold a special matinee for the girls. A 
few of the older ones had heard him before, and spread 
such reports through the school of his wonderful play¬ 
ing and his personal charms, that every house was full 
of excitement at the prospect of his arrival. One mem- 
161 


i6a Captain Peggie 

ber of the Sixth, who was lucky enough to possess a 
photograph of the star, hit upon the enterprising notion 
of exhibiting it, admission one penny, proceeds to be 
given to the School Photographic Society, the funds of 
which were in a languishing condition. Barbara had 
a brighter idea still, which she communicated to the 
others. Once a week the girls were allowed to order 
certain things which they wanted from Baddesley. 
“Carrier’s Day”, as they called it, was on a Wednesday, 
and the recital was to take place on Thursday. Spring 
blossoms are no doubt very tempting in chilly February 
weather, but it seemed a singular circumstance that on 
this occasion practically every girl in the school ordered 
flowers. They arrived in such quantities one would 
have thought a harvest festival was in progress. They 
were carefully put away by their owners and cherished 
until the morrow, for what object remains to be seen. 
The captain of each house appeared to have received 
private instructions which she handed on to her own 
particular flock. 

“Is it to be before or after?” asked Joyce. 

“Barbara says before,” answered Peggie. “You see 
afternoon recitals are so often cold and sleepy, and 
we want to warm him up and make him enthusiastic 
before he begins. If we only do it afterwards we may 
get one extra encore perhaps, but the programme will 
be finished, and our demonstration could make no 
difference. Get him in a good temper at once and he’ll 
play like an angel. Barbara has common sense. I quite 
agree with her about it.” 


A Lantern Conference 163 


“So do I. Mine are violets. What are yours?” 

“Two lovely pink roses.” 

On Thursday afternoon, precisely at 2.30, the school 
was seated and waiting at attention in the large hall. 
Every girl looked excited and interested, and all faces 
were turned towards the door. The pianist, as was the 
custom as Somerton College, was ushered in and intro¬ 
duced by Miss Penrose, who announced: “Young 
ladies. Signor Caviano.” 

The handsome, dark-haired Italian who entered was 
quite romantic-looking enough to justify schoolgirl 
enthusiasm. Two hundred and thirty pairs of young 
eyes gazed at him with admiration, and as he walked 
up the aisle, between rows of girls, to the platform, a 
chorus of voices called: “Benvenuto! Benvenuto, 
signor!” (Welcome! Welcome, sir!) and he was pelted 
as he passed with showers of fragrant flowers. 

With a merry little laugh he stooped, picked up as 
many as he could, and carried them on to the platform, 
where he placed them on the piano. Then with a most 
polite foreign bow he said in rather broken English: 

“Young ladies, I thank you for giving me a so pretty 
welcome, and in my own language! I have been at 
Nice at the 'Battle of Flowers’, but never have I re¬ 
ceived so many thrown at me as today. Again I thank 
you. Now I shall give you my best at the piano. When 
I like my audience it is easier for me to play.” 

The signor justified his words. His performance, 
far from being cold and sleepy, was most impassioned 
and full of fire. Those who had listened to previous 
performances in Baddesley declared they had never 


164 


Captain Peggie 

heard him play so exquisitely. He quite surpassed him¬ 
self at the end, for he gave as an encore an impro¬ 
visation which, he assured the girls, was inspired by 
their lovely flowers, and was meant to convey the im¬ 
pression of “Fair Maids and Blossoms.” The school 
was immensely flattered at receiving an original piece 
composed on the spur of the moment for its benefit, 
and Signor Caviano departed amid a perfect furore of 
applause, to which he again bowed, smiled, showing 
a set of perfect white teeth, and waved a delicate agile 
hand as he passed from their midst bearing with him 
a selection of the flowers. The girls were in raptures, 
but Miss Penrose, greatly amazed at this unexpected 
demonstration by her pupils, demanded explanations. 

“I asked if we might put a few flowers for him on 
the platform, and you said there would be no objection,” 
answered Barbara. 

“A few flowers! Why, you must have thrown 
bushels! It was like a floral fete or a wedding. We 
don’t generally give gentlemen quite so much atten¬ 
tion here. Of course I meant a few vases of flowers 
placed upon the platform. However, he was very 
pleased, and he gave us an absolute treat in the way 
of music. His own piece at the end was really perfect. 
But, Barbara, you must consult me next time before 
you prepare such a reception for any of our lecturers 
or performers. It’s not done.” 

“Isn’t it? I’m very sorry,” blushed poor Barbara. 

The friends to whom she confided the rebuke re¬ 
joiced that Miss Penrose had not known beforehand of 
their intentions. 


A Lantern Conference 165 


“She’d have stopped it I suppose,” said Freda. 
“After all, why shouldn’t we? He liked it, and it cer¬ 
tainly made him play. He took one of my roses away 
with him.” 

“And my camellia. The kids picked up all the flowers 
that were left and pressed them. I wish he’d write 
down the music of ‘Fair Maids and Blossoms’ and pub¬ 
lish it.” 

“We’d buy two hundred and thirty copies, at this 
school, and everyone of us would learn it,” agreed 
Freda, with enthusiasm. 

After the signor’s wonderful performance even dear 
Miss Mena Duncan’s playing seemed a little tame, 
though she gave them delightful illustrations from 
Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven, and tried to open a musi¬ 
cal debate upon the relative value of the composers. 
It was then that Helen made her famous remark that 
Mozart seemed almost trivial after Beethoven. It was 
listened to with respect by Miss Duncan, who en¬ 
couraged the girls to criticize, and Helen was so inordi¬ 
nately proud of it that she repeated it afterwards till 
her chums were ready to turn and rend her. 

“You’ve told us that before,” they remonstrated. 
“It isn’t anything so very much. Anybody could have 
said that.” 

“Then why didn’t they? You all sat as mum as mice, 
and never opened your mouths. Somebody had to 
make a remark. It was a lesson on musical apprecia¬ 
tion.” 

“And finished with Helen-appreciation,” laughed 


1 66 Captain Peggie 

Enid. “You’ve got a jolly good opinion of yourself, 
old sport.” 

Helen was not an entire favorite at Bronte. Since 
the brief fortnight she had spent as head of the house 
she still considered she was a kind of deputy-captain, 
and always took the lead and tried to exercise authority 
if Peggie were not there. Many of the girls much 
resented this, they had no wish for two captains, 
especially as Helen was more domineering and less tact¬ 
ful than Peggie, and they took rather a pleasure in 
ignoring her commands. Foremost among the muti¬ 
neers was Louise. She had always disliked Helen, and 
though original causes of quarrel were almost forgotten, 
there was lktle love lost on either side. At present quite 
a trifling matter was sufficient to raise the flame of 
rebellion. Peggie’s practising time was altered and 
was now 6.15 to 6.45. As she was out of the room at 
the close of preparation, Helen took it upon herself to 
make some very stringent rules about the instant put¬ 
ting away of books and papers and the tidying up of 
the table. 

“It must be done at once , when the bell rings!” she 
decreed. “I shall give you two minutes to clear your 
things away, and if anything’s left it will be confiscated. 
All waste paper goes straight into the fire, so I warn 
you.” 

Some of the girls, out of sheer contrariness, liked to 
loiter and moved their possessions in a very dilatory 
fashion. 

“Come, come, Louise,” said Helen, one evening 
growing more and more aggravated at what she could 


A Lantern Conference 167 


see was intentional slowness. “Put those books to¬ 
gether properly and take them to your locker. There! 
I knew you’d drop your pencil. Don’t be half the night 
picking it up. Make haste, can’t you ? You won’t have 
time to change for supper if you don’t hurry.” 

Louise, grumbling, emerged from under the table 
where she had been groping for her lost property, 
gathered her books and papers in a hasty heap and 
tossed them into her locker. Next day, when she went 
into “Modern Geography” class, she discovered to her 
consternation, that the careful map of European coun¬ 
tries which she had drawn last night, was no longer 
inside her atlas. She apologized to Miss Howard for 
its absence, said she must have left it on the table at 
Bronte, and asked to be allowed to bring it afterwards, 
a concession which was rather ungraciously yielded to 
her. But when Louise hunted at the hostel for her 
map, lo and behold it had utterly vanished. Nobody 
remembered having seen it. Louise in frantic concern 
appealed to Helen. 

“If you left anything on the table it’s your own fault 
if it’s lost,” replied the deputy-captain airily. “I put 
all the waste paper in the fire as usual. I certainly 
didn’t see a map amongst it, though.” 

“Then where is it?” 

“How should I know? If you weren’t so careless, 
you wouldn’t lose your things.” 

Louise departed in a furious tantrum, perfectly per¬ 
suaded that Helen had burnt her map on purpose. She 
confided her grievance to some of her chums, and per¬ 
suaded them to hold an indignation meeting about it. 


168 Captain Peggie 

As it would be difficult to talk undisturbed in the sitting- 
room, or in one of the dormitories, she suggested that 
they should retreat with the lantern to one of the dark 
attics, which, to her romantic mind, seemed a suitable 
spot for a private conclave. Joyce, Violet, Rosamond, 
Kathleen, and Betty were the chosen malcontents, and 
retired with much secrecy up the stairs and through the 
boxroom, to the first inner chamber. They would have 
gone farther, but the door leading to the inmost room 
was locked, and the key was safely in Miss Croft’s 
desk. 

Feeling rather like conspirators, they sat in a circle 
on the floor with the lantern in their midst. 

“I vote we make ourselves into a society,” began 
Louise. “I don’t see why, because we’re the juniors 
of the house, we should be sat upon by Helen. I’m 
not going to be trampled any longer.” 

“She is the limit,” agreed Violet. 

“So conceited.” (Joyce.) 

“So fond of bossing.” (Rosamond.) 

“So rude about it.” (Betty.) 

“And she’s not captain either.” (Kathleen.) 

“It’s simply abominable of her to have burnt my 
map. It’s no use her denying it. She did it. Sherlock 
Holmes couldn’t persuade me she didn’t. These things 
can’t be allowed to go on. We must retaliate. That’s 
what people do in war time, and this is practically war. 
Helen must be brought to her senses.” 

“Couldn’t you tell Peggie about it? She’s captain,” 
suggested Kathleen. 

A strong and well-founded suspicion that Peggie 


A Lantern Conference 169 


would adopt methods strictly in accordance with law 
and order caused Louise hastily to veto this proposition. 

“It’s not fair to drag Peggie into it. She wasn't in 
the room at the time. It’s far better to manage the 
matter ourselves and let Helen see we’re not going to 
stand her tyrannical nonsense. We’re all equal mem¬ 
bers of Bronte, and one is as good as another. If Helen 
spoils our things we must spoil something of hers. 
Then she’ll know we’re not to be trifled with.” 

It sounded so dignified and grand that Louise drew 
her head up and tossed back her hair to give efifect 
to her own words. The others assented, though rather 
cautiously. It was Louise’s map that had been lost, 
not one of theirs! 

“What d’you want to do?” asked Betty bluntly. 

“What does she value most of anything?” asked 
Louise in return. 

After some cogitation Rosamond suggested “her 
Bible” and Kathleen “her new Prayer Book”, neither 
of which were articles which anyone could with decency 
purloin. 

“She’s proud of her study sheet,” said Joyce, at last. 

Bronte was competing for a distinction at the exhibi¬ 
tion which would be held at the end of the classes on 
celebrated painters. Helen’s drawings and paintings 
were quite clever, and among the large sheets of paper 
pinned round the sitting-room wall hers was so far 
decidedly the best. 

“The very thing!” declared Louise, with a bounce 
of satisfaction. “We must pull her old study sheet 


170 


Captain Peggie 

down and burn it. A most excellent idea, Joyce. I 
give you credit for it.” 

“Oh!” replied Joyce. “And who’s going to do it?” 

“Yes, who’s going to do it?” echoed the others. 

They all looked at Louise, as if expecting her 
instantly to accept the responsibility, but she did nothing 
of the sort. 

“We must draw lots,” she said darkly. “That’s what 
people always do in secret societies. Have you a pencil, 
Joyce? Thanks! I have a piece of paper here. I’m 
going to tear it into six pieces, and make a cross on one 
and leave the others blank. Then we’ll fold them and 
shuffle them and draw. Whoever gets the cross must 
do the deed.” 

“You’ll very likely get it yourself,” sniggered Betty. 

“It doesn’t follow in the least. But whoever does 
must keep it absolutely to herself. None of us is to 
know who gets the fatal slip of paper. Do you under¬ 
stand me? It’s a point of honor to ask no questions 
and make no remarks. You look at your paper, then 
tear it up at once. One of us is the chosen hand of 
vengeance, and she must do her deed secretly, with no 
witness by and never, never reveal one single word, 
even under torture.” 

Really Louise was enjoying herself very much indeed. 
It was as exciting as plotting for an empire, or out¬ 
witting the Kaiser. With a face of solemn satisfaction 
she prepared the lots, shuffled them well, and placed 
them in her lap. The others drew first, and she herself 
last. She eagerly examined her slip. It was a blank. 
The cross had fallen to somebody else, who was hence- 


A Lantern Conference 


171 

forth destined to be the avenger. Without any com¬ 
ments the girls tore their papers to shreds, and taking 
the lantern returned to civilization. 

Louise fully expected next morning that Joyce or 
Violet or Rosamond, who shared her dormitory, would 
get up very early and creep stealthily downstairs. 
Whichever of them it was she meant to pretend not 
to hear her. Nothing of the sort however happened. 
All three slept peacefully until the bell rang, and dressed 
without any undue haste. The lot must certainly have 
been drawn by Betty. No doubt she had been up be¬ 
times and accomplished what was necessary. Louise 
peeped into the sitting-room on her way to breakfast, 
quite sure that Helen’s study sheet would be missing 
from the wall. No! There it was, still in its old place. 
Oh, well! Perhaps the “avenger” had not found a 
suitable opportunity to remove it secretly. In a hostel 
of twenty-five girls it is no easy matter to get rid of 
witnesses. Later on no doubt it would be taken away. 
All that day Louise waited for the great sensation, and 
all the next, but the study sheet remained where it 
was. Then the disagreeable truth forced itself upon her 
—whichever of her five confederates had received the 
paper with the cross had failed to execute what was 
required of her. 

“The sneak! She’s afraid. She thinks that she can 
hide behind the others and that no one will guess who 
she is,” raged Louise. “I’ll let her know what I think 
about her. I’ll call another committee meeting in the 
attic and make them take an oath. I hope they feel 
ashamed of themselves.” 


172 


Captain Peggie 

With the ardor of a parliamentary “whip” she 
collected her chums and suggested a lantern conference 
in the dark lumber-room. One and all they jibbed at 
the idea. 

“We shall certainly get caught.” 

“Miss Sheppard missed the lantern last time.” 

“And Lena asked what we were doing upstairs.” 

“It’s so fearfully dusty.” 

“If we want to talk, why can’t we talk in No. 5 ?” 

So, much against her will, Louise abandoned the Guy 
Fawkes part of the proceedings, and retired unroman- 
tically to her own cubicle. It was quite tame sitting on 
the bed, instead of squatting on the floor among the 
shadows of the attic. Environment has a great effect, 
and her friends seemed no longer impressed with the 
solemnity of the affair. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Kathleen crossly. 

“Matter indeed! I’ve told you. Someone has 
sneaked. Whoever drew that cross hasn’t done her 
duty. I wish I knew which of you it was.” 

The five looked at one another blankly. 

“You said nobody was to know.” 

“You said it was a point of honor to ask no ques¬ 
tions.” 

“And to make no remarks.” 

“And never to reveal a single word.” 

“You called it a big secret.” 

“So I did,” answered Louise, “but of course I thought 
one of you was going to do it. I never dreamt you’d all 
turn traitors.” 

“We haven’t all turned traitors.” 


A Lantern Conference 173 


“Well—one of you then.” 

“That doesn’t make any blame on the rest.” 

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” suggested Betty. 

“It’s not my job when someone else was chosen. 
But if you like we’ll draw lots again.” 

“Oh, I don’t think we need do that!” (Violet.) 

“Let things stay as they are.” (Joyce.) 

“It’s my practising time and I must scoot,” said 
Rosamond. “Sorry I can’t stay any longer.” 

“Yes, and I want to look over my Latin,” said 
Kathleen, moving hastily from the bed. 

The meeting broke up without any satisfaction to 
Louise, whose chums hurried away as if glad to go. 
They seemed completely to have forgotten the incident 
of the burnt map. Much sympathy one got from one’s 
schoolfellows! There was evidently no depending 
upon them at all. They were fair-weather friends and 
would desert her just when she needed help most. In 
this cynical frame of mind she began to walk down¬ 
stairs. She was passing the captain’s room when Peggie 
called to her. 

“Is that you, Lu-lu? Come in, I want to speak to 
you. Look here! Does this thing by any possible 
chance belong to you ? It has L. R. in the corner.” 

Louise’s face was a study. The object which her 
cousin held out for inspection was her missing map. 

“Yes—it’s mine. Where did you find it?” she 
stammered. 

“I found it days ago, under the table in the sitting- 
room. I’d just come in from practising, and you’d all 
gone upstairs. So I picked it up and popped it inside 


174 


Captain Peggie 

a book and meant to give it to you, and then I forgot 
all about it till this moment. I hope you haven’t been 
wanting it?” 

“Miss Howard was raggy, but I can take it to her 
to-morrow.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I never thought about it again. 
It’s a nice map, Lu. Why don’t you do a study sheet;?” 

“What’s the use? I can’t draw anything as well as 
you.” 

“That doesn’t matter; it’s the pleasure of it. Besides 
mine isn’t the best by any means. Helen’s is the one 
that ought to win the distinction.” 

“If Helen’s had been out of the way would yours 
have won ?” 

“I don’t know. Why?” 

“Suppose hers had been burnt by—by—accident. 
Would you have been glad?” 

“Really, Louise, what a question to ask. Of course 
I shouldn’t. As long as Bronte gets a distinction it 
doesn’t matter who wins it. As a fact, if Helen didn’t 
send in her study sheet, Nightingale would probably 
come out top. I saw Doreen Henshaw’s yesterday, and 
it’s better than mine, though not so good as Helen’s. 
I’m not clever at laurel-plucking. Not that I care if 
someone else at Bronte can do it.” 

“Always Bronte first ?” 

“Certainly, always Bronte! Surely you think so too 
by now, in the middle of your second term? It’s far 
more fun to all work together for the house than each 
for herself.” 



Pauc 174 

































- 












































» 








































































































































































































































. 



















































































































































































A Lantern Conference 


i 75 


“And you really think Helen’s study sheet has a 
chance of distinction?” 

“Indeed I do.” 

“Oh!” (Louise’s eyes were fixed upon her map.) 
“She’s rather a blighter, though not so bad as I thought 
her. It’s a mercy on the whole that somebody was 
sneak.” 

With which enigmatical remark she turned her back 
upon Captain Peggie and stumped downstairs to show 
her recovered property to her five friends. 


CHAPTER XIII 


A School Mystery 

While winter still held sway, and nights were dark 
and windy, strange things began to happen at the 
college. There was a tremendous gale one afternoon, 
blowing with such terrific force that the girls could 
hardly struggle back from the Central Buildings to 
their own houses. The Bronte contingent arrived 
flushed and breathless, darting into the porch like ships 
steering into a harbor, and all exclaiming at the velocity 
of the wind. 

“I could hardly keep my feet.” 

“Thought I was flying.” 

“My algebra blew away, and I couldn’t go after it.” 

“And I lost my handky.” 

“I declare it makes the house rock.” 

“Hope the chimneys won’t come down.” 

“Miss Croft says she never remembers anything like 
it.” 

“Well, no more do I.” 

Still rather panting and ruffled, the girls sat down 
to tea, but hardly had the cups been passed round when 
a fearful crash resounded from upstairs. Miss Shep¬ 
pard ran to investigate, and came back with the news 
that a chimney pot must have fallen, for there was a 
176 


A School Mystery 177 

small hole in the roof of Dormitory 2 and some pieces 
of broken tile and slate on the dressing-table. Here 
was an excitement. The occupants of the dormitory, 
Lena, Esme, Gracie, and Cicely, could not possibly sleep 
there in safety, and other arrangements must be made 
for them for the night. So after supper their mat¬ 
tresses, pillows, sheets, and blankets were carried down 
to the sitting-room and placed upon the floor, which 
seemed the only possible way of accommodating them 
in the emergency. Half inclined to grouse, and yet 
giggling at the novelty, the four homeless ones retired 
to bed in these fresh quarters. The gale had some¬ 
what abated, and though the night was still windy, there 
seemed to be no further danger of falling chimney pots. 

“You can all sleep with easy minds,” Miss Croft 
told everybody. “There will be no more accidents 
now, so don’t think about such things.” 

Lena, Esme, Gracie, and Cicely, in spite of mattresses 
on the floor, were soon in the land of Nod, and con¬ 
tinued there for several hours. Then Cicely suddenly 
awoke. What had disturbed her was the insistent ting- 
ting of the telephone bell in the hall, just outside the 
door. All the hostels were connected by telephone with 
the Central Buildings, but it was a rare thing indeed 
for anyone to ring up during the night. Next, she 
heard steps in the hall, and Miss Croft’s voice calling 
an answer to the message, then their door was opened, 
the electric light switched on, and the house mistress, 
clad in a blue dressing-gown, came hurriedly in. 

“Girls, I’m sorry to disturb you,” she explained, 
“but the fact is there has been an attempted burglary 


i 7 8 


Captain Peggie 

at Austen, and as this room is on the ground floor and 
the windows have no shutters I think it is better for 
you to go upstairs.” 

“Oh, dear! Where are we to go? Back to No. 2?” 
asked Esme, only half awake. 

“No, we must ask some of the girls to give you hospi¬ 
tality. Come along, and we’ll see who’ll take you in.” 

School beds are not generally wide enough for two, 
but on this particular occasion Dormitory 5 proved 
generous, and each occupant moved to the side and 
made room for a guest. Glad to be accommodated any¬ 
where, the poor girls snuggled thankfully in, hoping 
there would be no more disturbances, and that possible 
burglars would at least leave Bronte in peace, which¬ 
ever other hostels they might choose to rifle. 

Next day the whole story was out. Some of the 
girls at Austen declared they had heard footsteps on 
the leads outside their dormitory window. Nancy Lowe 
had been brave enough to peep out and had seen a light. 
She at once gave the alarm, and the hostel matron had 
telephoned to the other houses to put them on their 
guard. The burglar, finding himself disturbed, must 
have decamped, for he had not effected an entrance 
and nothing was missing. All the same the incident 
was very alarming and disturbing. It was the first time 
anything of the sort occurred at Somerton, and Miss 
Penrose at once reported the matter to the police. 
Meantime shutters were ordered for ground-floor win¬ 
dows, and masons were busy patching up the roof of 
Bronte and fixing on a fresh chimney pot. 

Everybody was in a state of scare. A clothes-brush 


A School Mystery 179 

dropping from the hat-stand in the hall was enough 
to cause a panic; the girls imagined masked faces 
peering through the windows, and the scratching of a 
mouse behind the wainscot was construed as the filing 
of bolts. 

Watches, bangles, and any little pieces of jewelry 
belonging to the girls were safely hidden away for fear 
of robbers. Miss Sheppard talked seriously of obtain¬ 
ing leave to keep a dog at Bronte, to defend the 
premises, but Miss Croft, who wished to allay the gen¬ 
eral panic, declared there was no further need to be 
afraid now the police had the matter in hand. 

They still had scares with mice and falling clothes- 
brushes, and the worst of it was they received no sym¬ 
pathy at all. Miss Croft and Miss Sheppard, acting 
on instructions from head-quarters, pooh-poohed any 
fears, assuring the girls that a burglar who had failed 
to do anything but put everyone on the alert was hardly 
likely to repeat his visit in the near future, and told 
Bronte not to give way to nerves. 

“You’re like a lot of early Victorian schoolgirls, 
shrieking at mice and afraid of your own shadows/’ 
declared the matron. “Do show a little strength of 
mind. If a burglar comes again I shall expect you to 
capture him. It would be some distinction for Bronte 
if you could do that, instead of merely screaming.’’ 

This remark gave Louise an idea. She confided it 
to her particular chums. 

“If the Shepherdess wants the house to have an op¬ 
portunity of showing pluck and courage and twentieth 
century womanhood and strength of arm and all the 


180 Captain Peggie 

rest of it, I vote we give it her. I think she deserves 
something for being so scornful. A little bit of a scare 
would do her no harm, and we could play up no end. 
They’d enjoy it when it was over. Listen, and I’ll 
tell you what I mean.” 

Three fair heads and three dark ones bent very closely 
together in a whispered conference, and with occasional 
chuckles of merriment a highly ingenious plot was 
hatched. The first stage necessitated a visit to the 
school theatrical wardrobe, and the borrowing from 
Barbara, the custodian of the costumes, of certain gar¬ 
ments. 

“We expect to be having a ‘social’ at Bronte with 
just a few charades,” explained Louise demurely, as 
she made her choice. 

“It’s quite right, take anything you like,” said Bar¬ 
bara, who was in a good temper. “So long as you bring 
them back within three days you’re welcome to them.” 

“We shall only need them for one night, thanks.” 

Louise wrapped up the parcel, brought it surrepti¬ 
tiously into Bronte and stowed it away in No. 5. Then 
she and her confederates set to work to pave the path 
for the surprise which they meant to spring upon the 
innocent and unconscious house. They began at tea- 
time by leading the conversation to the subject of 
burglars. Rosamond told the horrible story of “The 
Pedlar’s Pack”, a North Country legend of last cen¬ 
tury, in which a long bundle, left at a lonely farm¬ 
house, is found to contain not yards of calico but a 
robber; Violet capped the tale with an equally grue¬ 
some experience in another lonely farm, where a clever 


A School Mystery 181 

little girl, in the absence of her father, had outwitted 
a highwayman and locked him into the cellar. Louise 
related a modern adventure in a Paris hotel, when a 
beautiful adventuress, posing as a countess, had crept 
into the rooms of other guests and stolen their jewelry, 
and Joyce gave particulars of an exciting visit of brig¬ 
ands to a villa in Sicily. These narratives, as the con¬ 
spirators had hoped, created the right atmosphere. 
When dusk fell the girls began to be a little nervous. 

“I’m glad the shutters are up on the lower windows 
now,” remarked Esme, with a shiver. 

“Yes, but we haven’t any on the upper ones,” said 
Violet. 

“Surely those are safe ?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose somebody could bring a 
ladder.” 

“Or sneak into the house earlier and hide,” added 
Louise. 

Preparation and practising went on as usual that 
evening. There is nothing very alarming in sitting do¬ 
ing lessons in company with your friends, but when it 
came to going upstairs to change their dresses for sup¬ 
per, certain weaker vessels showed strong early Vic¬ 
torian tendencies. Cicely peeped timorously into the 
big cupboard on the stairs, half expecting to see a 
villainous face peering from among the coats which 
hung there; several girls looked carefully under their 
beds, and Pauline, despite her love of fresh air, shut and 
bolted her window. It was nearly supper-time, and 
almost all the girls, with the exception of Louise, were 


182 Captain Peggie 

in the sitting-room, and were waiting for the gong to 
sound, when suddenly into the midst of them ran Violet. 

“Oh! Oh! Come quick!” she gasped. “There’s 
someone upstairs. I—I saw a man on the landing.” 

The news was like a bombshell. Some faces went 
pale. Cicely began to cry and cowered behind Esme. 

“We’d better tell Miss Sheppard,” said Peggie 
quietly. 

“All right, run and tell her. But if it’s a burglar I 
vote we go and capture him,” declared Joyce valiantly. 
“Surely the lot of us could ‘do’ for him. Who’ll come 
with me?” 

“I will,” cried Rosamond. 

“And I,” said Betty, with spirit. 

“And I,” added Joan. 

“Come along, all of you, then. Don’t leave us to go 
alone. Show what stuff you’re made of.” 

The courageous champions forthwith raced upstairs, 
closely followed by the rest of the house, who were 
not to be outdone in pluck. On the landing, just emerg¬ 
ing from Dormitory 2 was a masculine figure with a 
dark moustache, clasping a variety of pilfered articles 
in his arms. At sight of the girls he bolted back into 
the bedroom. But Betty, Joan, Rosamond, Joyce, and 
Violet darted forward, forced open the door which he 
was holding, threw him to the floor, and seizing quilts 
from the beds rolled him up tightly, so that he was un¬ 
able to either kick or struggle. It was the work of 
hardly more than a minute.” 

“What’s the matter,” cried Miss Sheppard, who had 


A School Mystery 183 

been summoned by Peggie, and who now came pelting 
along the passage. 

“We’ve captured a burglar/’ answered Joyce. “Will 
you please come and look at him. He’s here on the 
floor—rather a desperate character too, I should say, 
by the way he kicked.” 

Miss Sheppard peering down at the prostrate figure 
by the bedside was deceived perhaps three seconds, 
then stooping she relieved the burglar of his black 
moustache. 

“Get up, Louise,” she said tartly. “You’re a very 
silly set of girls. I won’t have practical joking here. 
You know that perfectly well. Take off those clothes 
at once, Louise. You’ll have your supper in your bed¬ 
room.” 

“But we were very brave, weren’t we, Miss Shep¬ 
pard?” ventured Joyce. “You know you said if a 
burglar came you’d expect us to capture him. Won’t 
this mean a distinction for Bronte?” 

The matron turned upon Joyce with the eye of a lion 
tamer. 

“I never allow impertinence. If this affair is your 
doing you can write out a hundred lines. And so can 
Louise. You can both bring them to me to-morrow 
evening. Go downstairs all of you, and understand 
once and for all that we’re not to have another word 
on the subject of burglars. If I hear any of you speak¬ 
ing of such matters again you’ll report yourselves to 
Miss Penrose. It’s silly nonsense, and I’m completely 
tired of it.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


Royalty 

Towards the end of February there was a tremendous 
flutter of excitement at Somerton College. The Prince 
of Wales was announced to pay a brief visit to Bad- 
desley Wells to unveil a war memorial, open a new ward 
at the hospital, lay the foundation stone of an orphan¬ 
age and incidentally inspect parades of Boy Scouts and 
cadets. Every girl with a grain of patriotism in her 
wanted to see the Prince, and Miss Penrose was be¬ 
sieged with requests that the whole school should be 
taken into the town for the great occasion. She tem¬ 
porized till she could ascertain that satisfactory arrange¬ 
ments might be made for them, but finally consented. 
Later she had a most joyous announcement to make: 
the Mayor of Baddesley, recognizing the educational 
claims of Somerton College, had sent a special invita¬ 
tion to the head mistress and a selection of teachers and 
girls to be guests at the Town Hall, and witness the 
reception of the royal visitor. Was there ever such 
luck? True, the civic invitation was limited to twelve 
persons, and there were two hundred and thirty pupils 
in the school, but everybody felt that an immense honor 
had been conferred upon Somerton. Miss Penrose 
decided that the best representatives of the college 
184 


Royalty 185 

would be herself, two mistresses, and the captains of 
the nine various houses, who might justly be considered 
to have first claims to precedence. These favored few 
would be conducted to the Town Hall, while the rank 
and file, under close escort of teachers, should have 
places engaged for them on grand stands, or in shop 
windows where seats were to be hired. 

Peggie, as Captain of Bronte, was in a whirl of de¬ 
light. In all her sixteen years she had never yet seen 
royalty, and to take however humble a part in the recep¬ 
tion of the Prince seemed an occasion to be remembered 
for life. 

‘T wish he’d been coming here to the college,” she 
sighed. “Wouldn’t we just have decorated the place 
for him.” 

“Rather! Couldn’t we vamp up something to bring 
him ? He might lay the foundation stone of a new cloak¬ 
room. I’m sure we want one,” laughed Connie. 

“I’d sooner see the Prince than even the King and 
Queen,” said Dorothy. 

“May we throw flowers ?” asked Louise. 

“No. After our fun with Signor Caviano we’ve got 
to behave ourselves, worse luck.” 

Of course the great day was a holiday. Owing to the 
enormous crowds which might be expected in the streets 
of Baddesley it would be necessary to start early and 
take their places in good time. Motor-buses had been 
engaged to convey them to town, and the specially in¬ 
vited ones were to go in two taxis, in charge of Miss 
Penrose, Miss Humphreys, and Miss Carthew. Oh, 
the excitement of starting off. Peggie was in the 


186 


Captain Peggie 

second taxi, and sat beside the driver in front, because 
there was no room for her inside, where Miss Carthew, 
Rachel, Barbara, Nancy, and Phyllis made a tight fit. 
After the first mile they gained the main road along 
which the royal car was expected to pass, and here the 
decorations began. The little village of Aston (where 
the Prince was to salute a cyclists' memorial) was all 
en fete, with flags flying, hundreds of school children 
drawn up on the green, and crowds of people from 
neighboring parishes waiting patiently behind the 
barrier ropes. All along the way to Baddesley early 
comers were lining the road, and as they drew near 
the town the streets were thronged. It was impossible 
for the taxis to proceed far, so the party dismounted 
and walked. It was a most gay scene; citizens had 
shown their loyalty by hanging out Union Jacks; 
banners bearing mottoes of welcome stretched from 
window to window, garlands of laurels and paper roses 
adorned the balconies, and everywhere surged a sea of 
interested faces. Long rows of Girl Guides and 
Brownies, and of children from the Union Orphanages 
edged the pavement, protected in their position by the 
police, who maintained strict order among the sight¬ 
seers. Most of the youngsters held flags or colored 
balloons, so that the general effect was a medley of 
blues and reds and greens. 

In good time as they were, it would have been quite 
impossible to cross the High Street and gain the Town 
Hall, but for the friendly help of a constable to whom 
Miss Penrose showed her card of invitation. With 
him to escort them the crowd parted and made a path 


Royalty 


187 


for them to pass, and they very thankfully reached their 
destination. Up the steps they went, and in through 
the great door, where their credentials were examined, 
and they were duly admitted and ushered forward by 
a magnificent official in a red and green uniform. Up 
the wide flight of stone stairs and along the handsomely 
panelled corridors they walked to the Council Chamber, 
where the reception was to be held. It was a splendid 
hall, with stained-glass windows, and coats of arms 
emblazoned on the walls, and wonderful carved can¬ 
opies, and electric lights in Moorish chandeliers, and a 
marvellous clock decorated with gilt figures. It was 
already more than half filled with guests in gala attire. 

All the seats were numbered, and stewards showed 
them to their places. These were rather to the back 
of the hall, for the front was reserved for members 
of the Corporation, but fortunately they were just op¬ 
posite an aisle, so that they had an uninterrupted view 
of the dais. There were three-quarters of an hour to 
wait, and the girls had plenty of time to look round 
and admire the assembly, which included judges in wigs 
and gowns, gentlemen wearing medals and decorations 
of the Order of the British Empire, and ladies in every 
variety of fashionable hats. The Town Crier, clad in 
heraldic red and green, made a fine figure at the door¬ 
way. 

Then the church bells began to ring, and presently 
a great clapping was heard outside. The procession 
was coming up the stairs. Everybody rose and stood. 
Oh! Oh! Here they were at last. First the Chief 
Constable, then the Sword Bearer and the Mace Bearer 


188 Captain Peggie 

in full glory, then, cynosure of all eyes, entered the 
Prince, escorted by the Mayor and other dignitaries, 
and followed by the Aldermen in their scarlet robes 
and the Councillors in bright blue, all carrying cocked 
hats. It seemed like part of a fairy tale. The girls 
craned their necks to peep round the hats of those who 
sat in front. The Prince was being conducted on to 
the dais, and seated on the right hand of the Mayor. 

“Isn’t he a nice bright-faced boy?” whispered Peggie. 

“Doesn’t he look shy?” Rachel whispered back. 

There was a speech of welcome from the Mayor, 
and a presentation, then the Prince rose and read his 
reply, quite simply and without any affectation. The 
little ceremony concluded, the procession passed out 
again amid tremendous applause, to the Mayor’s parlor, 
where certain distinguished citizens were to be pre¬ 
sented. During the five minutes occupied by this pro¬ 
ceeding the party from Somerton managed to whip 
round through a side door and station themselves in 
the corridor, where they caught another glimpse of the 
Prince as he passed down the stairs. 

“Just a splendid hearty young Englishman,” said 
Miss Penrose enthusiastically. “He puts on no royal 
airs at all. Nothing could be in better taste. No 
wonder the people are cheering him outside. A pity 
it’s all over so soon.” 

The Prince’s car had whirled him away to unveil 
the war memorial and perform the other duties of his 
brief visit and the function at the Town Hall was at 
an end. Refreshments were ready for the guests in 
many of the rooms, and the girls, who had breakfasted 


Royalty 


189 


at 8 o’clock, looked longingly at piles of sandwiches 
and cakes, cups of coffee, and trays of ice cream. Miss 
Penrose left them with the two teachers to take what 
they liked, but herself hurried across the street to reg¬ 
ulate the departure of a contingent of her girls who 
had seats on a grand stand outside the bank. Peggie, 
who did not happen to be hungry, begged to go with 
her. She wanted to see the fun in the square. They 
had forced their way across, and Miss Penrose was just 
motioning to her pupils to keep their places until the 
crowd grew thinner, when there was a commotion and 
a squeal, and a brown-clad figure came tumbling down 
the wooden steps of the stand and rolled on to the 
pavement almost at their feet. Of course it was Louise! 
Nobody else would have jumped up so suddenly and 
have tripped and fallen. It was always Louise who 
did tiresome and embarrassing things. A dozen people 
picked her up, and a constable hurried to the rescue. 
Seeing some blood on her cheek he whistled for the 
ambulance that was waiting in case of accidents, and 
before they could realize what had happened, Louise, 
Miss Penrose, and Peggie were hustled inside and 
whisked off to the hospital. 

They were taken to the out-patients’ department, 
where Louise was carefully examined by one of the 
house surgeons, who found no broken bones, only a 
grazed forehead, which he bound up with a bandage. 

“Did you see the Prince?” he asked. “Well, if 
you’d care to see him again, I’ll take you into one of 
the wards, for he’s due at the hospital in twenty 
minutes. There’s plenty of room.” 


190 


Captain Peggie 

Who could resist such an extra treat? Even Miss 
Penrose smiled as the doctor led the way through many 
passages into Victoria Ward. The huge room was like 
fairyland, decorated with flags and streamers and bal¬ 
loons. As Royalty could not visit every ward, a large 
number of the patients and nurses were collected here 
ready to offer their greetings. Peggie and Louise were 
given places beside the bed of an old ex-serviceman, 
who, noticing the latter’s bandage, asked if her injuries 
were recent, and was most interested to hear they had 
been received in welcoming the Prince. 

Then more cheering was heard outside, and again 
entered the bright-faced, smiling, friendly young figure 
who was the centre of all the ovation. His keen eyes 
quickly noticed the ex-serviceman, for pinned to the 
hospital jacket was a card, bearing the words “One of 
the Old Contemptibles”, and he came to the bedside 
and spoke to him. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he finished. 

“No, Your Royal Highness, thank you kindly. Un¬ 
less you can spare me that flower in your buttonhole.” 

With a pleasant laugh the Prince drew out the rose 
and handed it to him, then moved on to visit other beds. 
Gunner Thompson looked at his gift with satisfaction, 
smelled it, and passed it to Louise. 

“Keep it, missie,” he said. “You deserve it for 
breaking your head to get a sight of him. Nay, take it. 
I asked for it for you. I'll be offended if you don’t.” 

“Oh! Thank you ever and ever so much,” cried 
Louise, with sparkling eyes. 


Royalty 19 1 

She was the heroine of the day when they all returned 
to Somerton. The Prince’s rose was put in a vase and 
exhibited, after which it was carefully pressed. The 
school museum was suggested as its ultimate destina¬ 
tion, but to that Louise would not agree. 

“I shall keep it myself, thank you,” she said. “It 
isn’t every girl gets the Prince of Wales’ buttonhole.” 

“He didn’t exactly give it to you though,” urged 
several jealous voices. 

“That doesn’t matter in the least. I got it, which 
is the main thing, and what I’ve got I’ll keep. So 
that’s that!” 

It is seldom that two stupendous events occur in one 
week in a school, yet after the royal visit on Wednes¬ 
day came the great hockey match of the term on Satur¬ 
day. The first eleven of Somerton were playing the 
Baddesley Ladies’ Club. It had been an annual fixture 
for the last five years, and on each occasion, alas! alas! 
the club, which was composed of “crack” players, had 
scored the victory. Somerton had quite taken the 
matter to heart. The honor of the college seemed at 
stake. This year the team was absolutely resolved to 
“do or die”. 

“We’ll have eleven stretchers ready, and we’ll be 
carried back upon them if we lose again,” declared 
Barbara desperately. “We’ve just got to win.” 

Nobody was more deeply interested in the match 
than Captain Peggie. She had concentrated much 
energy on hockey this season, and was in the second 


192 


Captain Peggie 

team. Though not so strong and sturdy as some of 
the girls she was a very quick runner, and generally 
kept her head in an emergency. The talk, on the day 
before, was all about the coming match and the chances 
of the school. 

“By the by, Peggie,” said Barbara, who was hockey 
captain, “I shall put you on as reserve for Nell. You’re 
a good centre forward, old sport! Nell’s a doubtful 
quantity for to-morrow—got one of her sniffly colds. 
So if you have to play—play up! That’s all I can say 
to you.” 

The prospect of a chance in the first team sent 
Peggie’s mental barometer soaring aloft, and when 
Saturday arrived and Nell’s cold was declared too bad 
to allow her to take her place in the team, the reserve 
was in a state of much excitement. 

“I can trust you not to let us down, Peggie,” said 
Barbara. 

“You may be sure I’ll do my best,” said Peggie. 
“I hope I shan’t make an idiot of myself.” 

Bronte was immensely flattered that its captain 
should be among the elect eleven. 

“You lucker!” sighed Dorothy enviously, “I’d give 
the Easter hols, for your chance. I wish somebody 
else would be taken ill, and I should be wanted as a 
reserve. Barbara didn’t mention me, did she ? I 
thought she might have done.” 

“She said nothing about you. I don’t suppose she 
expects anyone else to crock up.” 

“Understudies never get much of a chance. But 
Barbara did promise.” 


Royalty 


193 


“Promise what?” 

“To put me on the reserve. You might remind her 
about it.” 

“I will if I can.” 

Punctually at half-past two the Baddesley Ladies' 
team arrived in a motor-bus, and were conducted to 
the hockey field. All the college were assembling to 
witness the match, and girls were hurrying up from 
every house. Bronte in a body escorted its champion. 

“I wish I were playing,” said Louise, as they walked 
over the grass. “I feel just like it this afternoon. Fd 
win for you.” 

She had been waiting outside for the others, with a 
hockey stick, and amusing herself by hitting a ball about, 
and she was still carrying this as she went. 

“Don’t fear, my good child! You won’t be chosen 
at the eleventh hour as champion,” laughed Connie. 

“It’s as well to be ready,” retorted Louise. 

“Considering this is only your second term how much 
do you know about hockey ?” 

“How much ? I made a most mighty strike just now. 
It would have scored a goal if I’d been really playing. 
Look! I’ll show you. I’m sure I can do it again.” 

Louise threw down her ball on the grass and made 
a tremendous hit, the ball flew forward with the velocity 
of a bullet, but at exactly that unfortunate moment 
Peggie, who was in front, turned round, and received 
the charge full in the face. At first the horrified girls 
thought she was blinded. They took her back to 
Bronte, where Miss Sheppard, skilled in first aid, 


194 


Captain Peggie 

bathed and bandaged her until the doctor, for whom 
she telephoned, should arrive. Peggie, still squirming 
from the agony of the blow, sent the others back to the 
hockey field. 

'‘You must tell Barbara,” she urged. “Ask her to 
let Dorothy take my place. Go, all of you, quick!” 

There is nothing so painful as injury to an eye, and 
the doctor’s examination was an unpleasant process for 
his patient. Mercifully he found there was no great 
damage done, the ball had struck the cheek but not the 
eyeball, and though she would have what is technically 
known as a “black eye”, and some consequent inflamma¬ 
tion, there was no danger of losing her sight. He put 
on a dressing and a bandage, and ordered her into the 
sanatorium for a few days, to keep her quiet. Here by 
special permission Louise was allowed to see her that 
evening. She had already been put to bed, but sat up, 
with bandaged head, to greet her cousin. 

“Here I am, at same old address,” she said brightly. 
“I seem fated to go to the sanatorium. I feel rather 
like the wolf-grandmother in this get-up. Don’t be 
alarmed. I won’t eat you.” 

“How’s your eye?” asked conscience-stricken Louise 
anxiously. 

“It’ll be all right, Dr. Moore says. Miss Penrose 
has been a trump. Never mind my eye. Tell me about 
the match. I suppose the Club won as usual?” 

“No, they didn’t. We scored by one goal. And, oh! 
Peggie, it was Dorothy who did it. She took your place 
and played as if she were possessed. Everybody says 


Royalty 195 

they never saw such magnificent play. The club for¬ 
ward was actually raising her stick to get a goal, when 
Dorothy shot up like a whirlwind and saved the school. 
The captain of the Ladies’ Club said: ‘That girl will 
be a champion some day’. Nobody knew Dorothy had 
it in her. She’s quite surprised herself. You should 
have heard the cheers. Old Bronte was to the fore, I 
can tell you.” 

“How perfectly splendiferous!” 

“We were fearfully sorry you were out of the run¬ 
ning,” continued Louise remorsefully. “Pegs, I don’t 
know how I was such an utter Johnnie as to send that 
ball in your face. I oughtn’t to have been ragging about 
with it then. The others have rubbed that into me. 
Can you forgive me? Will your eye really get well 
again ?” 

“So the doctor says. Don’t worry, Lu. I shall be 
all right in a few weeks.” 

“I allowed you five minutes, and time’s up,” inter¬ 
rupted Nurse. “My patient must drink her hot milk 
now and go to sleep. Say good night to her.” 

Later on in the evening, when Nurse came to take 
a last look, she found Peggie repressing tears. “Is the 
eye painful; poor child?” she sympathized. “I’ll give 
you an aspirin later on if you need it, but try and go 
to sleep without it if you can, won’t you?” 

“It’s not so bad, thanks,” gulped Peggie. “I shan’t 
need anything, I’m sure.” But to her pillow she added, 
when Nurse was out of hearing: “It’s not my eye. Am 
I never to do anything for Bronte? It’s always other 


196 Captain Peggie 

people who do the winning. The captain doesn’t seem 
to count. It was my biggest chance and I’ve lost it. 
Peggie Paget, what a selfish little beast you are. In¬ 
stead of being glad for Bronte you’re whining over 
yourself. Probably you’d have missed that goal. You 
don’t deserve to be captain if you can’t be more sport¬ 
ing than this. I’m ashamed of you. Find your hand¬ 
kerchief and dry your one sound eye and go to sleep.” 


CHAPTER XV 


A Shrove Tuesday Party 

For the winning part which Dorothy had played at 
the hockey match Bronte received another “distinc¬ 
tion”. It was not a crown of laurels this time, but a 
medal, with “Somerton College, Proficiency in Games” 
upon it, and was attached to ribbons of the school colors, 
brown and pink. Dorothy, who was public spirited, 
voted it to the hostel, and the girls pinned it upon a 
small notice-board (recovered with plush for the pur¬ 
pose) and hung it up in the hall. 

“Really, if we go along at this rate we shall be get¬ 
ting quite conceited,” exulted Connie. “Old Bronte has 
come on by bounds lately. She’ll be the crack house 
of the coll. soon. I feel I trot about with my head in 
the air nowadays.” 

“You needn’t boast particularly, old sport,” said 
Enid. “You haven’t gained any of the laurels. No 
more have I, for that matter. I can’t write plays and 
win goals. But there’s one thing I mean to try for— 
a costume prize on Shrove Tuesday. That’s far more 
in my line. We’ll jolly well buck up at Bronte and 
give them a treat. I vote we turn out in style.” 

The night of Shrove Tuesday was kept as a carnival 
at the college. The girls dressed in fancy costumes, 
197 


198 


Captain Peggie 

and all met in the big hall, where they spent what they 
called a “Mad Hatter evening”, restrained only by the 
prefects. It was a point of honor to do something 
different each year, and Barbara, who as head of the 
school was leader of the proceedings, had decided that 
this time it should be a “celebrities” party. Everyone 
was to represent some famous person, ancient or 
modern, the funnier the better, because the function was 
not a solemn assembly but a merry-making. 

Bronte, mindful of its growing reputation, deter¬ 
mined to do its best. Some of the girls wrote home 
and were helped with their costumes by their mothers ; 
others set to work to contrive ingenious things for 
themselves, and a few applied to Miss Penrose to be 
allowed to hire wigs for the occasion from a hair-dresser 
in Baddesley, who sometimes supplied the school with 
theatrical properties. 

By six o’clock on the 5th of March (Lent was late 
this year) two hundred and thirty extraordinary indi¬ 
viduals trooped to the big hall. Each was prinked out 
to the utmost, and wore what was called her “identity 
disc”, a circle of cardboard setting forth the celebrity 
whom she represented. They were received in state 
by Barbara and Freda, arrayed as Father Neptune and 
his wife Amphitrite; the former (a rough old King of 
Sharks and Whales), in classical garb but decked with 
seaweed, barnacles, and shells, and a wig made of 
combed rope-ends, bore a trident of gilt cardboard, 
and was much henpecked by his lady, a variety of mer¬ 
maid, who constantly smacked him on the back, and 
informed him: “Now, Neppy, my boy, you’ve got to 


A Shrove Tuesday Party 199 

do what Wifie wants.” Charlie Chaplin, with large 
feet and corked moustache, acted herald to the god and 
goddess, proclaiming through a cardboard megaphone 
the name of each arrival, and after presentation every 
girl walked down the hall and tried her best to act up 
to the character that she was portraying. 

Dorothy, who possessed what her friends called the 
“gift of the gab”, her bobbed hair carefully parted and 
powdered, and her person padded with cushions to fill 
out her suit, was Mr. Lloyd George, and mounted on 
a chair she held forth eloquently on matters of politics, 
trying to shout down Rachel Arnold, the Bolshevik 
candidate, who was proclaiming red riot. 

“As a Russian I must speak my native language,” 
roared Rachel. “I am outski to overthrow everything- 
ski, especially this schoolski. Down with prefects. 
Down with teachers. Give us democracy. Abolish 
workski.” 

“What about captains?” interrupted Mr. Lloyd 
George. “Our Russian friend will be obliged to abolish 
himself in the common ruin. Gaskell can’t ‘go red’ 
and own a captain. Now I’m here to speak about food 
supplies. Vote for me and your Sunday cakes will 
contain double the number of currants. We’ll 
grow our own baking powder and prohibit foreign 
muffins-” 

“You want to tax my dinner,” heckled the Bolshevik 
candidate. 

“No, no, my friend. I would never lay a tax on 
thistles,” said the suave voice of Mr. Lloyd George. 
“So go and hee-hawski in your own houseski.” 



200 


Captain Peggie 

The girls stood by to listen and laugh till other char¬ 
acters came along to claim attention. There was Helen 
as Julius Caesar, a wonderful figure in a Roman toga, 
who passed by chanting in deep tones: 

“I’m Julius Squeezer. I’m coming back as a ghost 
soon. Tootle-lootle-loo!” 

Betty Yates, as Dr. Moore, the school physician, 
made great fun by offering enormous pills or drinks 
out of a medicine bottle. She carried a large bath 
thermometer with which she essayed to take tempera¬ 
tures, finishing with: “Now please to let me look at 
the tongue/' an unfailing request of the doctor’s when 
he visited at the sanatorium. 

Winifred Chapman was Pavlova, in short full skirts 
of crinkled paper, and pirouetted about in imitation of 
the “Dying Swan” ballet, posing in extraordinary atti¬ 
tudes with much effect. 

Gracie Clarke represented Signor Caviano, as he had 
appeared at the college, and entered bowing and smil¬ 
ing and pressing flowers to his heart, and adjourned to 
the piano, where he threw up long white hands with 
great affectation. 

Maggie Fowler was dressed as the mummy of 
Tutankhamen, and was conducted by Pauline Webster 
who, as Mr. Carter, the celebrated Egyptian archaeo¬ 
logist, exhibited his discovery in the fashion of a show¬ 
man, descanting upon his various points of interest as 
a specimen. 

Phyllis came as Madame Montessori, of educational 
fame, and was accompanied by Joyce, Rosamond, and 
Violet as baby toddlers, in socks and pinafore, carrying 


201 


A Shrove Tuesday Party 

large cardboard letters of the alphabet. The ex- 
Kaiser, a gruesome figure with fierce moustaches, 
walked arm-in-arm with Prince Ranjitsinhji, who 
carried a cricket bat. The Sultan of Turkey and his 
harem excited much mirth by the shocking behavior of 
the ladies, who “made eyes” over the tops of their 
eastern veils till he threatened to throw them into the 
Bosphorus. 

Peggie, who was still obliged to wear a shade over 
her eye, had been puzzled as to what celebrity she could 
possibly represent, and had finally borrowed a leather 
motor-coat and leggins and a huge pair of motor- 
goggles, and announced herself as “The World’s 
Champion Road-hog”. She had a toy motor-horn, 
which hooted when she squeezed a bulb, and she dashed 
about the room noisily clearing a passage for herself 
in the style of a 60-mile-an-hour racing-car tooting 
pedestrians from the road. Her rival in energy was 
Nancy Cameron of Cavell, who, as “The Wandering 
Jew”, also perambulated the hall, playing upon a Jew’s 
harp, a most untuneful instrument with little more 
music in it than a comb and tissue paper. Connie, who 
posed as “The Man in the Moon,” waved a large 
wooden porridge spoon and made mock love to Cleo¬ 
patra, Florence Nightingale, and other ancients and 
moderns. A small girl from Greenaway had borrowed 
a big wash tub from the laundry, placed it on its side 
like a dog-kennel, and squeezing herself into it, made 
an excellent Diogenes, calling out cynical remarks upon 
the appearance of passers-by. Louise, after much 
thought, had sent for some of her cousin Nelson’s 


202 


Captain Peggie 

clothes, had hired a suitable wig, and impersonated 
H. R. H. the Prince of Wales. It was “like her cheek” 
the girls said, but they could not help laughing, as she 
put on a “royal” manner, inquired kindly who they 
were and what she could do for them, and finally pre¬ 
sented the rose from her buttonhole to Amphitrite, at 
which Father Neptune exhibited great jealousy, and 
threatened to fight the Prince with his trident. 

For half an hour at least the various celebrities 
amused themselves with jokes about one another’s 
costumes and characters, but after a while Barbara 
mounted the platform and, raising her voice above the 
babel, commanded silence. 

“You are some of you aware,” she said, “that this 
is Degree Day at the college. Queen and myself will 
now distribute our Shrove Tuesday honors. Please to 
take your seats and come up in order as called.” 

On a throne, improvised from chairs covered with 
a rug, Father Neptune and Amphitrite placed them¬ 
selves, smiling affably, with a small retinue of courtiers 
behind. Charlie Chaplin, with the megaphone, acted 
as royal usher, and summoned those chosen to the in¬ 
vestiture. Adela Swayne, who had been longer at 
Somerton than anybody else, was given the Order of 
the Crusted Barnacle, with the right to use C. B. after 
her name. Mary Wadsworth, the baby of the school, 
was awarded the Order of the Shrimp. On Muriel 
Spencer, the cleverest girl in the Sixth, was bestowed 
the Order of Minerva, and she was presented with a 
small ornament in the shape of an owl, to remind her 
of the bird of wisdom, which in classic lore accom- 


A Shrove Tuesday Party 203 

panied the goddess. Nancy Millington, noted for her 
hearty appetite, was made a Commander of the Order 
of the Bath Bun, and an appetizing-looking specimen 
of the bun tribe was hung round her neck by a blue 
ribbon. The girls shrieked with laughter as she re¬ 
turned from the platform and generously offered bites 
to the bystanders. 

The next to be summoned was Dorothy, on whom 
Father Neptune smiled broadly as he said: 

“In view of valuable services rendered during the 
match with Baddesley Ladies' Club I have great 
pleasure in conferring on you the Imperial Order of 
the Hockey Stick. Will you kindly kneel." Then, as 
she prostrated herself at his feet, he touched her with 
his trident and proclaimed: “Arise, Dame Dorothy.” 

Olive Rowe, who could never be induced to run at 
games, was made a Knight Commander of the Order 
of Slowcoaches; and Winifred Chapman, in virtue of 
her success as Pavlova, was given the Imperial Order 
of Twiddletoes. 

These were Court honors, but there were also Uni¬ 
versity degrees to be conferred, and several surprised 
damsels found themselves suddenly elevated to be a 
Spinster of Athletics, a Mistress of Sports, a Doctor 
of Drama, or a Dame of Dancing. 

“And have you nothing left for His Royal High¬ 
ness?” asked Louise, when the stock of honors seemed 
giving out, “not even an Order of the Imperial Button¬ 
hole?” 

“Get away!” frowned Father Neptune. “If you 
come an inch nearer to my beautiful Queen Amphi- 


204 


Captain Peggie 

trite, I’ll nail you up in Diogenes’ tub and toss you into 
the deep. Imperial Buttonhole, indeed! Amphitrite, 
dearest heart, I’ll trouble you for that rose.” 

“No, no, Neppy, it’s mine and I mean to keep it,” 
bridled his partner, and the pair were still sparring 
amusingly when the school clock struck eight, and the 
big bell ringing loudly informed them that the time 
allotted to the carnival was over, and that the various 
celebrities must scatter to their own houses to become 
private personages once more and to partake of a be¬ 
lated supper before departing to bed. 

“Three cheers for Neppy!” shouted the girls, as that 
monarch of the sea raised his trident in a parting class¬ 
ical salute. But Charlie Chaplin roared through his 
megaphone: “If you don’t go instanter every single 
degree will be taken off you. We’d instructions to 
clear the room by eight and we prefects are responsible. 
Do you hear what I say! G—O! Go!” 

After the wild excitement of Shrove Tuesday even¬ 
ing came Ash Wednesday and Lent, like a long peace¬ 
ful Sunday after a mad Saturday. Miss Penrose did 
not wish it to be in any way a gloomy season, but she 
wanted the girls in the midst of their busy jolly school 
life to have a little quiet time to think about that higher 
part of themselves that lies hidden under all the fun. 
So for a while there were no romping parties or “House 
rags”. It was not that these things were wrong at all, 
only that b]? their little bulk they were apt to fill the 
school world and shut out things that mattered much 
more. The school chapel was always open, and there 
was a table full of helpful books by the door. The 


A Shrove Tuesday Party 205 

girls could go in for any chance scrap of odd time, and 
sit reading and thinking. After the hustle and bustle 
of the hostels it was a calm and uplifting atmosphere. 
There is nothing so good for any one as to get the habit 
of liking to spend at least ten minutes alone. Rubbing 
among our fellows is excellent and necessary character 
training, but an equally vital part of our experience 
are those snatches of time spent “on a high mountain 
apart”, when the ordinary little life seems transfigured 
and we catch radiant joyous glimpses of something 
fuller and more perfect beyond. 

March was especially a “nature month” at Somer- 
ton, when the girls were taken for rambles and en¬ 
couraged to use their eyes and look about them at the 
miracle of the resurrection of the year. Many of them 
kept notebooks and wrote down the arrival of the first 
spring migrants, the finding of the first wild flowers, 
and records of insects, moths, mammals or reptiles 
which they might happen to have seen, together with 
cloud effects and local rainfall. After the long winter 
it was a change to go out into the woods; there was a 
thrill in the air and a feeling of bursting buds and 
opening flowers. Somerton was near to very beautiful 
scenery, and most interesting excursions were within 
the scope of a Saturday afternoon. Parties of not more 
than twenty were sent out with teachers, and enjoyed 
themselves immensely hunting for sweet violets or 
early primroses, and bringing home branches of chrome- 
colored catkins or silvered “pussy-willows”. 

On one of these “glad adventures” towards the close 
of March went Peggie and Louise, the former already 


206 


Captain Peggie 

a trained “nature student”, and the latter, who only 
knew South African specimens, very much interested in 
everything she found, though absolutely ignorant as yet 
of the names and comparative values of her treasures. 
Some of the girls laughed when she rejoiced over a 
celandine or pointed out a thrush singing on a 
branch, but Louise was never at a loss for a repartee, 
and would immediately go one better by descriptions 
of iguanas, white arum lilies and other wonders which 
might be seen on the veld near her old home. 

Addiscombe wood lay in a valley between two steep 
hills and was of considerable extent. There were defi¬ 
nite roads and paths through it, but there were great 
spaces of tangled fern and bushes among the trees, 
where it was difficult to push one’s way. When hunt¬ 
ing for specimens it was the easiest matter in the world 
to wander out of ear-shot of the others, and a much 
harder business to locate the party again. Peggie and 
Louise, to whom the byways of nature were the high¬ 
ways to happiness, set off in search of Arcadian 
nurseries, lured by the tweeting of a chaffinch in bridal 
plumage, and the tirra-lirra of a tiny wren that flitted 
among the swaying catkins. They scrambled through 
brambles and beds of deep ferns, amid “brake and 
briar” for a considerable distance, up a hill-side where 
green moss mingled with the long grass, and the last 
year’s leaves lay thick as in autumn. Here, in the 
densest part of the wood, they came upon a surprise. 
It was no bird’s nest, or coveted patch of primroses, 
but a roughly made wooden cross, on which were 


A Shrove Tuesday Party 207 

carved the words “J esu Mercy!” and underneath, in 
smaller letters, “Mary and Elizabeth—April, 1845”. 

It seemed a strange enough object to find hidden 
away in such a remote and tangled part of the wood. 
Why was it there? Surely there must be some story 
connected with it? The brief words were an insuffi¬ 
cient explanation. 

“We’ll ask Miss Towers/' said Peggie, turning away 
at last, “though how we're going to find her again good¬ 
ness only knows [ Where have we got to ?” 

Except that they must go downhill instead of up 
the girls had no idea of what direction to take, and soon 
realized that they were completely lost. They had hoped 
to regain the path they had left, but it had vanished, 
and nothing but endless trees and bushes remained. 
There was a fairy-tale feeling about it too, a mist was 
rising and crept among the brown trunks of the beeches 
like sprites and spectres. Peggie and Louise kept very 
close together, for to lose one another would be the 
last horror. They walked on merely to keep moving, and 
in the hope of eventually reaching a path. They were 
very quiet now, though occasionally Louise said “Don’t 
lose me, Peggie!” just for the sake of hearing her own 
voice. Suddenly, through the silence, rang out the shrill 
clear note of a Guides’ whistle. It was to their left and 
was repeated over and over again. The girls turned, 
and plunged in the direction of the sound. A few min¬ 
utes' scrambling brought them to a clearing, and oh, 
joy! among the trunks of the trees on the farther side 
they spied the brown dresses of the school uniform. A 
most distracted Miss Towers, escorted by a flock who 


208 


Captain Peggie 

had not strayed, was searching for the runaways, and 
welcomed them with a scolding made sharp by anxiety. 

“Don’t you know how risky it is to wander off on 
your own ? I thought you knew better, Peggie! Stop 
with the others, and never go out of earshot of my 
whistle. If you can’t keep the ramble rules, you’ll 
be left at school another time. We’ve wasted half an 
hour or more in hunting for you. You were looking 
for bird-nests! Oh, I daresay! But if we all spread 
ourselves out in a wood like this, we should never be 
collected again.” 

“Ask about Mary and Elizabeth!” whispered Louise 
to Peggie, but Peggie, subdued under the rebuke, did 
not dare to face a possible snub. 

It was Connie who told them the story afterwards, 
Connie who knew the neighborhood and its legends. 
Nearly eighty years ago two little girls of seven and 
three years old had strayed from the village of Addis- 
combe and were missing. They had no father, and 
the mother, who went out to work, returned at dusk 
to discover the absence of her bairns from the cottage. 
For three weeks the whole of the district was searched 
for them, then a laborer, going to cut brushwood, came 
by accident upon the dead children, clasped in each 
other’s arms among the deep fronds of the bracken. 
The neighbors had subscribed, and put a cross to mark 
the place. That was all! 

“Would they have put a cross for us if we hadn’t 
heard Miss Towers’ whistle?” asked Louise, much im¬ 
pressed. 

“You and Peggie are hardly Tabes in the wood’, 



A FEW BRIEF WORDS 


Page 2 07 



















A Shrove Tuesday Party ' 2 °9 

smiled Connie. “But I'll tell you what I’ve heard. 
Some other quite wee children were lost once, and 
found their way home again. They told their mother 
that two little girls in white pinafores had come to them 
while they were crying, and had beckoned them on and 
on among the trees till they regained the path; then 
they had vanished/’ 

“Mary and Elizabeth!” gasped Louise. 

“Perhaps! Who knows? They may have been 
sent—to save other little girls. We don’t know what 
happens over the borderland, and children sometimes 
see things that older people can’t.” 

“I’d like to go again sometime, if we could find the 
place, and put some flowers on the cross,” said Peggie. 

“No! I should be frightened!” shuddered Louise. 
“Give me the African veld where I can see the sun or 
the stars, and I can find my way, but in your dark Eng¬ 
lish woods I’m a babe. The robins would soon have 
covered me with leaves.” 

“But for Miss Towers’ whistle!” 

“Yes—but for the Guides’ whistle!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


Fortunate Pilgrims 

Easter was very late this year, almost as late as the 
Golden Numbers and the Full Moon and the Calendar 
will allow it to be fixed. School was to break up on 
the Tuesday before Palm Sunday, and would not re¬ 
assemble till the sixth of May, when everybody would 
come back with summer clothes, and prepare to start 
cricket and tennis. The month in between, with nature 
at her prime, would perhaps be the most enjoyable vaca¬ 
tion of the year. The girls at Somerton certainly 
thought so, and with good reason. Miss Penrose, who 
believed in following up certain branches of education, 
had arranged, in continuation of the lectures on Early 
Italian Art, to take a select party of pupils for a three 
weeks’ tour to Italy. It is naturally rather a big order 
for parents to send their daughters on such an expen¬ 
sive jaunt, but a few of them had responded to the 
typed prospectuses sent by Miss Penrose, and the urgent 
schoolgirl appeals that supplemented them. Foreign 
travel under the immediate protecting wing of the head 
mistress of Somerton was felt to be an “educational 
privilege” calculated to put a very fine polish upon the 
previous bed-rock of acquired information, and to add 
culture to learning. That at least was how the fathers, 
210 


Fortunate Pilgrims 211 

who had to write the checks, looked at the matter. Ten 
jubilant girls, henceforth christened “the luckers of 
the school,” described the proposed expedition as “gad¬ 
ding abroad with Miss Pen”. 

That she might join this most elect contingent never 
occurred to Peggie, but Louise's parents, who always 
did impulsive and surprising things, suddenly decided 
that a peep at Italian art treasures might help to make 
up arrears in their daughter’s education, and was a 
unique opportunity of improving her mind before the 
family should go back to Africa; and, as a return for 
many kindnesses from the Pagets, they offered to send 
the two cousins together. 

“Why! It seems too good to be true!” exulted 
Peggie, as Louise read her father’s letter aloud. “I 
can’t believe it.” 

“Dad was so upset at my nearly knocking your eye 
out. I expect this is to make up!” 

“But my eye is all right again!” 

“You might have had a glass one by now, but for 
luck! Anyway here we are, both of us with our names 
entered for the jaunt. Was there anything more 
splendiferous ?” 

The head teacher of French, who spoke Italian, and 
who was to have gone with the tour, was prevented 
by an attack of rheumatism, and Miss Millar filled the 
gap instead, much to the secret satisfaction of the girls, 
who greatly preferred her to Mademoiselle. 

“Miss Pen can talk the lingo herself, so we shall get 
on all right!” said Peggie. 

“We stopped at foreign ports on our way from 


212 


Captain Peggie 

Africa, and we bought heaps of things,” said Louise. 
“We just pointed to what we wanted and held up some 
money.” 

“Barbara says she’ll lend me a conversation book and 
I can learn up some sentences.” 

“Oh, that’s all right so long as you don’t get them 
mixed up and fire off the wrong ones. It wouldn’t 
do to ask the chambermaid to drive faster and tell the 
taxi cabman to bring you some hot water.” 

“Hardly! But if we kept a conversation book handy 
we could always point to the right sentence and let the 
natives read it for themselves.” 

The contingent of twelve, five girls to each teacher, 
made a small and manageable party, which could be 
escorted about to view the sights without undue danger 
of dividing. With regard to luggage they were re¬ 
stricted to a suit-case apiece, and wore their usual 
brown school uniform, with the summer Panama hat. 

The ten fortunate “Pilgrims”, as they called them¬ 
selves, were Barbara, Freda, and Edna from Mitford, 
Clara and May from Eliot, Mollie and Christine from 
Austen, Brenda from Cavell, and Peggie and Louise 
from Bronte. They started on the afternoon before 
school broke up, so that they scored an extra day’s 
holiday. They departed in a motor-bus, a most excited 
little crew, for with the exception of Louise none had 
ever been out of England before, and this was a first 
plunge into the unknown. Their immediate destination 
was London, where they spent the night at a hotel, 
then next morning they were up betimes and caught the 
early boat train to Newhaven. Each girl, in addition 


Fortunate Pilgrims 213 

to her suit-case, was provided with a raffia basket hold¬ 
ing a thermos flask and buns, biscuits and fruit for 
lunch. 

“It's far wiser to take our own refreshments,” Miss 
Penrose had said, “then we're sure of having some¬ 
thing to eat. There’s often a wild rush for the restau¬ 
rant car, and girls would be crowded out. We’ll have a 
picnic in our own carriage instead.” 

Now the clerk of the weather, who is very apt to 
make a muddle of his business, especially in England, 
ought to have booked blue skies for the 9th of April, 
but he left the matter to the usual chance, and when 
the travellers arrived at Newhaven, they boarded their 
vessel in pouring rain. It was very much too wet to 
stay on deck. Even the shelters were damp and des¬ 
olate, and all the chairs were covered with tarpaulins. 
So down they went to the ladies’ cabin, and scrambled 
with other people for the few remaining berths and 
sofas, securing places for six, though the rest had to 
take pot luck. 

“Is it likely to be a rough passage?” inquired Miss 
Millar. 

“Well, I’m afraid there’ll be some sea on when we 
get out into the Channel!” replied the stewardess. 
“Better lie down at once if you’re a bad sailor. You’ll 
feel the motion less when you’re flat on your back.” 

Poor Miss Millar was a bad sailor, and she took the 
advice, glad that the girls had “grabbed” a berth for 
her. Even in the harbor there was an unpleasant little 
rocking of the vessel, giving her the sensation of be¬ 
ing on a see-saw. Miss Penrose, to whom fresh air 


214 


Captain Peggie 

was a fetish, looked desperately at the closed portholes, 
and seemed half inclined to escort the party on deck 
again, but showers of driving rain beating upon the 
glass urged a more prudent course. 

“I’m afraid we’re in for a bad crossing. Well, it 
won’t last for ever! You must be as patient as you 
can,” she counselled. 

“If we could only breathe!” groaned Barbara, used 
to the ever-open windows of Somerton. “Is it always 
stuffy like this in the cabins?” 

“Worse sometimes,” said Louise, who in virtue of 
ocean experience felt qualified to answer. “That’s to 
say when it’s stormy. But don’t begin to grumble yet. 
It will be as bad as the Black Hole of Calcutta before 
long, like it was on the Dunbar Castle when we crossed 
the Bay of Biscay.” 

“That’s not the way to comfort me.” 

“I’m only telling you the truth.” 

They had all meant to stand at the side of the steamer 
waving good-bye to the shores of Old England in the 
orthodox romantic fashion, but through the wet port¬ 
holes they could not even catch a glimpse of the reced¬ 
ing coast, and could only judge by the throbbing engines 
and the growing motion that they were putting out into 
the Channel. Then what Louise called “the music” 
started. The cradle of the deep began to rock them 
in earnest, and the ship seemed trying as many tricks 
as a circus horse. Sometimes she pitched and some¬ 
times she rolled, and unless you held tightly on to 
something you would find yourself on the cabin floor. 
Passengers, sick already, lay groaning on the sofas; a 


Fortunate Pilgrims 215 

baby was howling and refused to be comforted; two 
little boys, whose mother was too ill to look after them, 
ran up and down with unsteady footsteps; the 
stewardesses tried to be everywhere at once. Louise, 
who had gained her sea-legs on the Dunbar Castle , was 
not much affected; but poor Peggie, after valiant ef¬ 
forts to remember various directions for the avoidance 
of mal de mer, gave up the struggle and succumbed. 

“They’re a bright lot!” murmured Louise, looking 
round at the prostrate party. “Seems to me I’m the 
only sailor amongst us.” 

Even Miss Penrose was stretched upon a couch, and 
several of the girls had flung themselves on the floor, 
too ill to move. In the upper berth of a anall cabin, 
that opened out of the stateroom, lay Barbara, her 
usually rosy face as white as chalk. 

“How are you getting on?” asked Louise cheerfully. 

“I shall die if I don’t get some fresh air! You could 
cut this with a knife. Do you know how to open the 
porthole? I’ve been trying, but I can’t.” 

The round pane of glass was exactly at Barbara’s 
elbow—most tantalizing to one who was gasping in 
semi-suffocation. 

“I could, but it’s risky with that sea on!” 

“Oh, just for a second! If I can only get one breath 
it will be better than nothing!” 

Ignoring a passenger in the berth below, who was 
past remonstrating, Louise, despite the rolling of the 
vessel, climbed up and opened the little window. There 
was an instant rush of blessed air, the most heavenly 
thing in creation, but alas! Father Neptune played 


216 


Captain Peggie 

a rude trick on his one-time impersonator, for immedi¬ 
ately afterwards in surged a wave, wetting Barbara 
considerably and sending a spurt of water into the 
cabin. Louise banged the porthole just in time to avoid 
a second disaster. 

“There! I’ve done it! I thought that would happen!” 

“Never mind!” gasped Barbara faintly. “Sea water 
doesn’t hurt, and that breath of air has saved my life. 
Are we.anywhere near Dieppe yet?” 

“Hardly half-way across I’m afraid. At least so the 
stewardess says.” 

The boat was late, and when at last she sighted 
“La Belle 1 France” and put into the harbor, our de¬ 
jected party felt as if they had voyaged round the world. 
Looking limp and pale they dragged themselves through 
the Customs, but when their suit-cases had been duly 
examined for contraband goods, a formality which 
amused them, and a French porter, who took them all 
under his wing, had established them in two comfort¬ 
able compartments, and an official had come and exam¬ 
ined all their tickets, they began to cheer up. It is won¬ 
derful how soon sea sickness disappears once one gets 
on dry land again, and the world ceases to sway and 
rock. The color was coming back to Barbara’s cheeks, 
Peggie was tying her hair ribbon, and the rest were 
setting their tumbled costumes in order like a flock of 
dishevelled sparrows preening their feathers after a 
storm. It was then that they realized Miss Penrose’s 
wisdom in making each girl bring a thermos. Hot 
coffee and biscuits were exactly what they needed at 
the moment, and just what they could not have procured 


Fortunate Pilgrims 217 

on the train, which was serving a full course luncheon 
to those who could consume it. 

“I knew, if we had a bad crossing, that you wouldn’t 
feel tempted by soup and meat and vegetables. Eat 
the biscuits first, and you’ll feel better, and inclined for 
the buns and fruit later on,” counselled the Head. 

It seemed a very long way from Dieppe to Paris, but 
it was the picturesque route through Normandy, and 
they passed blossom-clad orchards, moss-roofed farms, 
and groves of trees covered with branches of mistletoe, 
all so new and wonderful that it was occupation enough 
to look out of the window. French fellow travellers 
also added to the foreign interest. In the compartment 
which Louise and Peggie shared with Miss Millar, 
Mollie, Christine, and Brenda, there was a little elderly 
withered-looking Sister of Mercy, evidently full of a 
burning grievance against the head of her convent. She 
poured out woes to a friend in a torrent of talk in Nor¬ 
man patois, and so fast that the girls, anxious as they 
were to listen to a real French conversation, could 
scarcely follow the rapid flow, and only gathered that 
“La Superieure” had been harsh in matters of disci¬ 
pline, and that the poor sister had started upon her 
journey without even a cup of coffee to support her. 
Her friend—a masculine friend, elderly, and possibly 
a relation—nodded his head gravely, and remarked 
“incroyable!” whenever a second’s pause gave him the 
opportunity. 

The one thing that Peggie realized was that the 
Sister had had no coffee. Her thermos was still half 
full, and—as she had brought an enamel mug for her 


'2l8 


Captain Peggie 

own use—its lid was presentable as a drinking vessel. 
With a glance at Miss Millar for her permission, Peggie 
shyly offered hospitality. The sister was delighted, 
grateful, and so refreshed that the stream of conversa¬ 
tion poured faster than ever, only now it was directed 
to the English party, much to their embarrassment, for 
none of them, not even Miss Millar, could understand 
what it was all about. They were rather relieved when 
she got out at Rouen, helped by the masculine friend, 
who took charge of her luggage and escorted her, 
still talking volubly, on to the platform. 

The girls were rejoicing that they now had the com¬ 
partment to themselves, and were scheming how by 
spreading out their possessions they could keep it thus 
select, when a porter opened the door and ushered in 
two fresh fellow-passengers. He placed their bags and 
packages on the rack, received his tip, assured them 
that they were right for the “Gare de Lyons”, and left 
to perform other duties. The newcomers were of a 
type rarely seen except on local trains; they were old- 
fashioned country people who were going to Paris. 
The younger of them was a grey-haired woman of sixty, 
and the elder, shrivelled and bent and wrapt in a brown 
shawl, must have been considerably over eighty. She 
looked so feeble and old that the girls re-adjusted 
themselves to give her a corner of the carriage, and 
were not surprised to hear that it was the first time she 
had ever travelled by train. The younger woman ex¬ 
plained that she had come all the way from Macon to 
Rouen, to fetch her mother, and was taking her back 
to live with her. Her husband had a farm, far up in 


Fortunate Pilgrims 219 

the country, and he would be waiting for them at Macon 
with a conveyance. 

“Where's Macon?" Louise asked Peggie. 

“In the south, going on to Lyons." 

“A long way from the old lady." 

“I should think so. I hope they get her there safely, 
poor old dear!" 

Gran’mere, as the girls privately called her, nodded 
off to sleep in the corner, and in course of time the 
train reached Paris. Now the carriages where our 
party was installed were labelled Dieppe - Milan, and 
were shunted round by the circular railway to the Gare 
de Lyons, the great point of departure for all southern 
places, whence they would go through to Italy. There 
was no need to change in Paris, but as there was an hour 
to wait and appetites had recovered after the crossing, 
Miss Penrose marshalled her flock and took them for 
dinner at the station restaurant. This was a most mag¬ 
nificent place, with elaborate gilding and paintings on 
the walls, gorgeous electric light fittings, big mirrors, 
and red velvet couches. A string band was playing in 
the centre of the room, and sometimes above the noise 
of mingled conversation and music came the loud voice 
of a porter announcing the imminent departure of a 
train, whereupon certain guests would lay down knives 
and forks and rush to the door. The French dinner 
was amusing, and afterwards the girls bought packets 
of chocolates; then they were once more marshalled and 
carefully conducted back to their railway carriage. 
They were rather surprised to find the old lady still 


220 


Captain Peggie 

slumbering in the corner, and Miss Millar again asked 
the daughter the name of their destination. 

“This train is going through Switzerland into Italy. 
I can’t see how they’ll get to Macon by it!” she com¬ 
mented, and in her best French she tried to explain 
the fact, even pointing out the places on a map which 
hung in the compartment. But no. Their companion 
either did not understand her or would not believe her. 
She replied that the porter had assured her she was 
perfectly right for Lyons and they had no wish to move. 
As she seemed to suspect that the English ladies were 
trying to oust her and her mother from their carriage 
Miss Millar could not persist. 

“I wonder if I ought to ask the conductor about 
them? But surely some official will come and look 
at their tickets and tell them. They’re in their own 
country, and we’re strangers,” she said, rather un¬ 
easily. 

It was half-past nine now, and as soon as the train 
started, the tired girls settled themselves to try and go 
to sleep. Most of them had never experienced night 
travel before, and it seemed strange to draw the cover 
over the lamp and spend hour after hour in semi-dark¬ 
ness only broken by the bright lights of the stations 
through which they passed. Those who had corners 
were the lucky ones, and the rest had to find support 
by leaning against one another, not a very comfortable 
performance or conducive to sound slumber. Peggie 
dozed a little, but noises constantly woke her up again. 
The train was stopping at Dijon and porters on the plat¬ 
form were calling a warning to those who must change. 


Fortunate Pilgrims 221 

Miss Millar, still feeling worried about her fellow- 
travellers, suggested again that the train was not going 
to Macon, and that this was the last opportunity of 
remedying a mistake, but mother and daughter only 
smiled, and closed their eyes again. Plainly they did 
not mean to be turned out of a cozy compartment for 
all the English in the world. Then hour after hour 
the train went on, and the girls dozed and slept and 
woke and tried to stretch their cramped legs, and 
dozed again, till very early in the morning they crossed 
the frontier into Switzerland and arrived at Pontarlier. 
When the train stopped the two old Frenchwomen con¬ 
cluded they had reached their journey’s end, threw open 
the door and inquired if they were at Macon. 

“Macon!” exclaimed an official throwing up his hands 
with an eloquent gesture of despair, “Mesdames! Vous 
etes en Suisse!” 

Then there was a wailing and a whimpering as the 
poor horrified daughter and the infirm old mother 
realized at last they had been in the wrong train. 
Several porters helped them out, and when last seen 
they were being escorted to the waiting-room, where 
it is to be hoped they were consoled with hot coffee and 
eventually returned to France. 

“I do blame myself for not insisting!” said Miss 
Millar. “I know I ought to have found the conductor 
and asked him. To think of that poor old thing having 
to get back to Macon, and then drive miles in a jolting 
farmer’s gig at the end of it.” 

“How could they make such a mistake?” asked 
Peggie. 


222 


Captain Peggie 

“I believe I understand. The porter at Rouen told 
them they were right for the “Gare de Lyons”, the big 
station in Paris, where they ought to have changed. 
They thought he meant they were in the train for 
Lyons, which of course is beyond Macon on the Mar¬ 
seilles route. But why nobody looked at their tickets 
in Paris I can’t imagine. We manage things better in 
England.” 

The journey through Switzerland was naturally a 
great excitement. At one station the train stopped and 
passengers were allowed to alight to get coffee, which 
was served in little wooden bowls, brought on a barrow 
along the platform. This, with a roll apiece, consti¬ 
tuted the girls’ breakfast, for they had finished their 
buns and fruit long ago. Pine trees, mountains, then 
the great lake of Geneva, with its blue waters, spread 
itself before their enchanted eyes. Miss Penrose came 
and pointed out the famous Castle of Chillon, a pic¬ 
turesque mediaeval building which one would not sus¬ 
pect of having horrible dungeons, though it was here 
that the captive languished of whom Byron wrote in 
“The Prisoner of Chillon”. 

“ My hair is grey, but not with years, 

Nor grew it white 
In a single night, 

As men’s have grown with sudden fears.” 

Then on and on again, through scenery which made 
them cry out at its beauty, till they reached the plain 
of Lombardy and finally arrived at Milan. It was just 
half-past one, and they had been travelling since nine 


Fortunate Pilgrims 223 

o’clock on the day before, so they were thankful to go 
to their hotel, wash faces and hands, tidy their hair, 
and have lunch. They were all tired, but the meal and 
some coffee afterwards restored their courage, and 
everybody voted for an afternoon’s sight-seeing. 

“Any girl who would prefer it may lie down on her 
bed,” said Miss Penrose. “We shall have to-morrow 
morning as well for Milan, so you wouldn’t miss the 
sights altogether, though of course there’s much to be 
seen. Peggie, you look worn out! Hadn’t you better 
rest?” 

“No, no, please!” protested Peggie. “I’m perfectly 
right and longing to go out. I’d see Milan cathedral if 
I dropped!” 

“Then get your hats and coats, girls, and be ready 
in five minutes. The great pilgrimage is going to be¬ 
gin. We’re off for our first wonder-walk in Italy!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


In Quest of Culture 

The girls agreed afterwards that they were glad to 
have started their tour at Milan, because it was dis¬ 
tinctly Italian enough to delight them, but not as en¬ 
thralling as Florence or Rome or Venice, so it was 
well to keep the best till last. The great glory of the 
city was its white marble cathedral, one of the largest 
and most sumptuous in the world. Our party admired 
the facade and many treasures in the interior, then 
climbed up interminable steps to the top of the tower, 
whence there was a splendid view of the Alps. Through 
the watchman’s telescope they could see Mont Blanc, 
Monte Rosa, the Great St. Bernard, and the St. 
Gothard. There were paths, protected by railings, on 
the roof of the cathedral, and they enjoyed rambling 
round and peeping down into the square or the streets 
below. One feature roused their utmost indignation. 
In defiance of many notices begging visitors not to de¬ 
face the walls, the whole of the beautiful white marble 
up the sides of the staircase was covered with sig¬ 
natures in lead pencil, and tourists had even scribbled 
upon the lovely carved marble pinnacles of the roof 
and the bases of the statues of the saints. Most of them 
were in Italian, but other nationalities had followed 
224 


225 


In Quest of Culture 

suit, and it was with shame that our pilgrims saw 
British names amongst them. 

“Such desecration!” burst out Miss Penrose. “To 
leave one’s autograph in a public place is nothing short 
of vandalism. People’s own good taste ought to teach 
them that.” 

“Who wants to know that Robert Williams came 
here in 1913? I jolly well wish he’d stayed at home!” 
said Barbara. 

“I’d like to get up a society for washing them all off,” 
said Freda. 

“People would do it again.” 

“I’d have a heavy penalty if they were caught. I’d 
put ‘Milan Cathedral’ on their foreheads with a rubber 
stamp and purple copying ink. Then they’d see what 
it felt like to be scribbled on. It would wear off in time, 
so they wouldn’t be marked for life, but it would teach 
them a lesson.” 

“You’d better explain your views to the custodian.” 

“I shall have to wait till I’ve learnt to talk Italian.” 

The sight-seers were tired when they came down 
from the roof, but nobody would give in and return 
to the hotel, so they took a tram-car to the Porta 
Magenta, and stopped at the Church of Santa Maria 
delle Grazie. In the adjoining disused monastery, on 
the refectory wall, was the wonderful world famous 
picture of “The Last Supper”, by Leonardo da Vinci. 
The girls had seen reproductions of it, also a lantern- 
slide at their lectures on Italian art, and were most 
interested to look at the original, which despite its bad 
preservation and faded colors came well up to their 


226 


Captain Peggie 

expectations, for the emotions portrayed in the features 
of the apostles and the expression of heavenly resigna¬ 
tion on the face of the Master far surpassed even the 
best copies. 

'‘What a pity it’s in such a deplorable state!” said 
Freda. 

“Yes! It was painted in oils on the wall, before 
1499, and the refectory has been used as a barracks. 
It’s only lately that art lovers realized its existence and 
began to take care of it.” 

The following morning at Milan was spent in seeing 
the castle and the picture gallery, then the suit-cases 
were packed again and the party set off for that Mecca 
of tourists—Florence. By this time they were begin¬ 
ning to be seasoned travellers. 

“We shall be licensed to put cockle shells in our hats 
soon, like middle-age pilgrims!” laughed Peggie. “I’m 
glad we haven’t to tramp all the way to Rome with 
peas in our shoes.” 

“A rattling train’s quite penance enough for me!” 
agreed Louise. 

Yet the girls enjoyed the journey, and the many 
funny little incidents which happened en route. Three 
lively young Americans shared one of their compart¬ 
ments, and made amusing comments on the scenery. 
At a station the boy, a handsome fellow of about nine¬ 
teen, purchased a picnic basket containing rolls, oranges 
and a little flask of native wine, and presented it to one 
of his companions, apparently as a peace offering after 
some quarrel, but she had not yet forgiven him, and 
refused his gift so curtly and emphatically that in a 


In Quest of Culture 


227 


sudden burst of temper he flung it out of the window 
and turned his back upon her. The Somerton party 
watched with amazement and regret as the attractive 
basket hurtled through the air and fell down an em¬ 
bankment. 

“The silly baby!” whispered Peggie. 

“I wish he’d offered it to us! I’d have liked an 
orange!” replied Louise. 

The train was full, and. at each station more and 
more people crowded into it. The American boy gave 
up his seat to a lady and stood in the corridor, but few 
of the Italians, in spite of the elaborate politeness of 
their manners, followed his example, and when a 
mother, carrying a heavy baby, entered the compart¬ 
ment, it was not one of her own countrymen, but a 
very tired-looking British clergyman who rose and 
offered her his place. 

“Anglo-Saxons don’t take off their hats with a 
sweeping bow on every occasion, but they’ve been 
taught ‘ladies first’,” commented Barbara, to whom the 
manners and customs of a country were as interesting 
as the scenery. “The way people push here is simply 
dreadful.” 

The girls had of course seen lantern slides of 
Florence and its art treasures, but no photography can 
reproduce a mediaeval atmosphere and local color. The 
brown old city, with its ancient palaces and wonderful 
towers; the green glacier water of the Arno, flowing 
under its many bridges; the gardens with their flower¬ 
ing shrubs and dark cypress trees; the blue ridge of the 
Lucca mountains—all combined to make one of the 


228 


Captain Peggie 

most attractive beauty spots in Europe. Then there 
were the shops, an asset not usually catalogued in 
guide-books, but a source of supreme satisfaction to 
our pilgrims, who revelled in the rich display of post¬ 
cards, carved frames, local pottery with the crests of 
the Medici, reproductions of pictures, and an endless 
variety of charming cheap knickknacks of the neighbor¬ 
hood, just the very things to tempt schoolgirl purses, 
and to make nice little presents to take home to friends 
and relations. Miss Penrose and Miss Millar found it 
quite difficult to drag their flock past these fascinating 
shops, the best of which were on the Ponte Vecchio, 
where, as on London Bridge in old days, the houses 
lined the road across the river. 

“Don’t spend all your money now, for you’ll want 
to buy something in Rome and Venice,” counselled 
Miss Penrose. “Each Italian town has its speciality, 
and you’ll like Roman mosaic brooches and Venetian 
beads. Leave some ‘lire’ for them or you’ll be sorry.” 

“I’ll try and resist. But those Della Robbia babies 
on bright blue backgrounds are simply too lovely to 
be left behind,” said Peggie, who had several family 
birthdays in view, and knew the tastes of her mother 
and sister. 

There was so very much to go and see in Florence— 
the Cathedral, and the famous Campanile built in 
colored marbles, which Louise unromantically com¬ 
pared to a slab of almond paste, a remark for which she 
was well snubbed by Miss Millar; the Baptistery where 
all children born in the city are baptized and where 
they were lucky enough to find a christening in pro- 


In Quest of Culture 


229 


gress; the picture galleries, where some of the most 
celebrated paintings of the old masters of Italian art are 
exhibited, and a variety of churches and museums. 
Perhaps what pleased them most was the Monastery 
of San Marco, a delightful peaceful spot, redolent of 
the Middle Ages and with memories of great souls who 
have passed away. Here Savonarola, the fifteenth 
century prophet and martyr, lived for a while. They 
saw his quaint cell, with his prayer desk and service 
book still preserved. And here, best of all, lived and 
worked the saintly Fra Angelico, whose pictures and 
frescoes decorated the walls, and whose angels, on their 
gold backgrounds, are unrivalled in their heavenly 
beauty, for the artist-monk painted them upon his knees. 

Those of the party who had read Romola by George 
Eliot were, of course, well versed in the tragic story 
of Savonarola and wished they could have witnessed 
the festival of 23rd May, when the spot on which his 
stake was erected is annually strewn with flowers. The 
Via Bardi, where golden-haired Romola had lived with 
her student father, was also a point of pilgrimage, and 
Clara and May, being “Eliot” girls, took special photos 
of it to take back to their hostel. Then admirers of 
poetry had to go and see Casa Guidi, where Robert 
Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning spent happy 
honeymoon years, and the little brown-eyed poetess had 
written “From Casa Guidi windows” looking from the 
shaded house into the sunlit Florentine street. There 
seemed no end to the celebrities, for the houses of 
Galileo, Dante, Michael Angelo and Benvenuto Cellini 
were still preserved, sombre places for the most part, 


230 


Captain Peggie 

though ideas of comfort were different in their day. 
Specimens of the glorious and elaborate silver work 
of Cellini were on view in various museums to be mar¬ 
velled at. 

“I rather agree with the Pope,” said Miss Penrose 
as she examined them. ‘‘The nobles told him that 
Cellini, who was a thorough scamp, richly deserved 
hanging. The Pope agreed his crimes merited the pun¬ 
ishment. ‘But/ he added, ‘where would you get me 
another Cellini ?’ ” 

Some of the less artistic pilgrims tired a little of 
museums and galleries, where Louise declared she had 
counted forty Madonnas in one room. 

“And as for Saint Sebastian, Pm sick of him! ,, she 
confessed. “I’ve seen at least thirty pictures of him, 
and in each one he seems to like the arrows sticking 
into him; he has a most pleasant expression as if he 
enjoyed them! I don’t think those old masters had 
any imagination.” 

“Yet one must see them all,” said Barbara. “Pm 
keeping a careful diary and putting down every cel¬ 
ebrated picture, then I shall be able to* talk about them 
when I get home.” 

“Pm going one better still!” said Freda. “Pm noting 
down a few very obscure and unimportant pictures, 
then when people begin to talk about the gems of the 
Florence galleries I shall say. “Ah! but did you notice 
that exquisite little Castagnola, No. 69, in the corner of 
the third room? In my opinion it’s the best bit of 
painting of the fifteenth century. Castagnola is just 
being re-discovered and re-appreciated. He puts Filip- 


In Quest of Culture 


231 


po Lippi in the shade/ Of course nobody will have 
noticed the picture, but they’ll all think I’m so clever— 
quite an art critic in fact.” 

“You humbug! Somebody’ll find you out if you 
try it on,” laughed Barbara. 

Louise, who was largely an open-air girl, liked the 
beautiful Boboli gardens, with their marble fountains 
and goldfish, and exquisite view over the city, and she 
enjoyed excursions by tram-car to see interesting places 
in the neighborhood. She was perhaps hardly educated 
up to the standard of the art treasures, though the ef¬ 
fort to appreciate them was extremely good for her, 
and just what her parents had desired. 

“I’ve sent Dad and Mums home sixteen postcards 
already, and told them I’m wallowing in art and archi¬ 
tecture, so I hope they’ll be satisfied,” she said to 
Peggie. “If you show me any more Madonnas and 
Saint Sebastians, stuck full of arrows like a hedgehog 
with its prickles out, I shall shut my eyes and refuse 
to look at them. Thank goodness to-morrow we go 
on to Rome.” 

Our party had spent Palm Sunday in Florence, but 
they were to celebrate Easter in the Eternal City. 
Naturally at such a season the place was crowded with 
pilgrims of all nations, and the hotels were filled to 
overflowing. Fortunately Miss Penrose had booked 
rooms well in advance, and her flock were in no danger 
of having to sleep in cabs or in museums, which was 
reputed to be the fate of some of the visitors, though 
possibly the newspapers exaggerated the extent of the 
influx. There was something very thrilling in feeling 


232 


.Captain Peggie 

themselves actually in Rome, which since its founda¬ 
tion in b.c. 753, has always seemed the very hub of 
the world. Down the long centuries British hostage, 
Saxon slave, or mediaeval pilgrim had followed the 
road thither and gazed with wondering eyes upon the 
self-same stones and pillars, which, battered indeed by 
the Goths and Huns, still stood as monuments to the 
strength and glory of those who reared them. The 
'‘City of the Seven Hills” is such a mixture of ancient, 
mediaeval, and modern that it keeps you in a perpetual 
state of surprise, for in the midst of shops and offices 
you come across a portion of a temple or a triumphal 
arch, and your hotel will probably stand back to back 
with a ducal palace. The grandeur of the place im¬ 
pressed the girls; to Louise at any rate it was easier 
to appreciate than Florence. She could understand 
ruins far better than pictures, and the magnificence of 
what was left appealed to her. She wandered delight¬ 
edly round the Forum, climbing over broken columns, 
picking wild flowers, or catching locusts, inspected the 
rostra of Caesar, peeped into the remains of temples, 
and listened quite attentively to Miss Penrose’s careful 
explanations. 

Of course our pilgrims went to St. Peter’s, gorgeous 
for Eastertide, and marvelled at its size and its many 
wonders, and they looked at the statues in the Vatican 
Museum, and shuddered at the Mamertine Prison 
where St. Peter and St. Paul were confined, and walked 
round the vast Colosseum, where Christian martyrs 
had faced the lions, and saw many other sights such 
as are seen by the orthodox tourist. They were staying 


In Quest of Culture 


233 


close to the Pincian gardens, and in the evenings would 
walk along the broad terrace to watch the sunset over 
the city. Nowhere are there more beautiful sunsets 
than in Rome; clear pure shades of rose and violet 
flood the western sky, and the great dome of St. Peter’s 
stands dark against a horizon of ruby and amethyst. 
The gardens were a perpetual source of interest, for 
earlier in the day they were frequented by charming 
little children with quaintly dressed nurses, and in the 
late afternoon they were the promenade of the Semi¬ 
narists, students at the religious colleges, whose gowns 
were colored according to their countries, the Scottish 
in violet, the Hungarians in red, the Greeks in blue, 
and other nationalities in black with brilliant lappets 
and girdles. The red ones, irreverently called “the 
lobsters”, excited the girls’ admiration as they filed 
along, they were such a splendid spot of scarlet against 
the sombre green of the ilex and cypress trees. 

Miss Penrose, who was a good cicerone, worked hard 
during the week spent in Rome, and conducted the 
band of pilgrims to every point of particular interest, 
though much had perforce to be left unvisited. 

“There are three hundred and sixty-five churches in 
the city, so they would last for a year if we did one a 
day,” said Peggie, after an ecclesiastical afternoon in 
St. Paolo fuori le Mura. 

“Heavens! Take me back to school!” gasped Louise. 
“I like the churches all right, but I guess three hundred 
and sixty-five of them would give me spasms.” 

“You’ve got more to go and see at any rate,” said 


2 34 Captain Peggie 

Peggie. “It's the catacombs of St. Agnes this after¬ 
noon.” 

“Oh bother!” (Louise was growing cross). “What 
do I care about St. Agnes? I don’t know who she 
was! And what are catacombs, please? Anything to 
do with cats or combs ?” 

The girls were tidying their hair for lunch at the 
moment, and Louise waved her comb questioningly. 

Peggie laughed. 

“You are the limit! Catacombs are underground 
passages with little chapels, where the Christians used 
to meet in very early times when they were being per¬ 
secuted. They were buried down there too.” 

“And have we to go down? Won’t it be rather 
spooky ?” 

“I daresay it will, but very thrillsome. I wouldn’t 
miss it for worlds. Shall I tell you the story of St. 
Agnes? She was only a little girl, younger even than 
you are. I read it in a book we have at home.” 

“If it’s interesting and not guide-booky!” 

“You can stop me if you don’t like it. Well, Agnes 
lived in Rome about 302 a.d. They were rich and great 
people, in a good position. The father and mother 
were Christians, but what you might call wobbly ones: 
they didn’t want their Roman friends to know. Agnes 
was the most perfectly beautiful girl, with a quantity 
of glorious golden hair that fell below her knees. 
Symphronius, the son of the Roman praetor, fell des¬ 
perately in love with her, and wished to marry her some 
day, but she refused him, because she knew he was not 
a Christian. He asked her again and again, and at 


In Quest of Culture 


235 


last he said: 'Agnes, is there anyone whom you love 
more than me?’ Agnes replied: 'Yes/ and at first 
she would not say more, but when Symphronius 
pressed for the name she whispered ‘Jesus Christ’. 
Then Symphronius went to his father and told him 
that Agnes was a Christian. Those were the days of 
the Emperor Diocletian, when all Christians were terri¬ 
bly persecuted, and went in danger of their lives. The 
praetor, who was what we should call a judge, ordered 
Agnes to be brought up before him. He scolded her 
for believing in Christianity, and said such views were 
not for maidens, but that as she was so young he would 
pardon her if she would give up this new religion at 
once, and be betrothed to his son. Agnes replied: ‘I 
cannot give up Jesus Christ/ 

" ‘Yornare only a little girl of twelve/ said the praetor. 
‘You are too young to know anything about these 
matters. Sacrifice to the Gods and marry my son. It 
is your one chance of safety/ 

‘"I know I am only a little girl/ answered Agnes, 
‘but I am old enough to love my Master, and I cannot 
deny Him !* 

“Then the praetor said that Agnes was an obstinate 
Christian and he must condemn her to death. The 
soldiers brought in handcuffs, but her little white hands 
were so small they slipped through them and the chains 
fell on the floor. They took away her upper dress, but 
she shook down all her beautiful golden hair and it 
hung like a veil over her white under-robe. It is said 
that the very soldiers who led her to her execution wept 
with pity to see so exquisite a girl condemned to death. 


236 


■Captain Peggie 

Agnes herself was perfectly calm. When they reached 
the block she put her hair carefully aside, so that it 
should not dull the edge of the sword. The parents 
buried her in a catacomb outside the city, and the next 
night they each had a most wonderful dream. They 
dreamt they saw Agnes standing in a green meadow, 
dressed in white, and carrying a lamb in her arms. 
There was wonderful golden light all around her and 
she looked gloriously happy, happier than she had ever 
been on earth. That's why her emblem is a lamb. In 
the pictures of her she always has it with her." 

“I like her\” said Louise reflectively. “Somehow 
she seems human. Yes, I should like to see her church 
and catacombs. When you tell me things, Pegs, I un¬ 
derstand, but when Miss Penrose reads pages and pages 
out of the guide-book I'm bored stiff, and don't care to 
look at anything more." 

So in the afternoon the pilgrims took a tram-car to 
the Basilica of St. Agnes. The martyrs of one age 
are the saints of the next, and the Emperor Constantine 
had built a church over the grave of the little girl whom 
the cruel law of the Emperor Diocletian had condemned 
to death. In the left aisle was a door leading to the 
catacombs, and under charge of the Sacristan our party 
descended a long flight of steps into a labyrinth of dark 
underground passages. They each carried a candle, 
and with these were able to see various monumental 
slabs and other relics of early Christianity, which were 
pointed out to them by the guide, who, by the by, 
amused them immensely with his English, which, 
gleaned from tourists, was of a slangy description. 


In Quest of Culture 


237 


When showing them any objects he would remark, 
with a strong Italian accent, “Oh, look 'ere! Oh, look 
'ere! Is not this top-'ole ?" a sentence that seemed to 
give him much satisfaction, but which sent the girls into 
fits. 

“I expect the bits of Italian we fire off at them out 
of the conversation book are far worse,” said Peggie. 
“But they’re always so polite and never laugh at us. 
I felt a beast to giggle, but I don't think he heard us. 
That ‘Oh, look 'ere!’ began to get on my nerves. Only 
one more half day in Rome. Does anybody know 
what’s the programme for to-morrow morning? In 
the afternoon we pack bags again and go on to Venice.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Venetian Waters 

The last few hours which our pilgrims had left of 
their short visit to Rome, were spent on the Palatine 
Hill. They saw the walls of Romulus, the spot where 
his hut had stood, “where two kings were content with 
a single hearth”, and close by the angle of rock which 
was the traditional den of the she-wolf, the foster 
mother of Romulus and Remus. They passed the Altar 
to the Unknown God, and the Temple of Cybele, and 
went through the remains of the House of Livia and 
the Palace of Domitian. What interested them most 
was the Paedagogium, which in the first century of our 
era was the school for the imperial pages or for young 
slaves, on the walls of which the pupils had drawn and 
scribbled with the stylus (the ancient substitute for 
pen) all sorts of sketches, names, and sentences. One 
of the most famous of these is a rough picture of a 
donkey turning the wheel of a mill, with the inscription 
“Work little ass, as I have worked, and may it profit 
thee”, probably the complaint of some youthful page 
upon the hardships of school life, for boy nature is the 
same whether in ancient Rome or at Eton. 

The party was walking in the ruins of the palace of 
Septimus Severus when something quite unlooked for 
238 


Venetian Waters 


239 


and exciting happened. Two ladies passed them, talk¬ 
ing to each other, and just as they had gone by, one of 
them looked back, spied Brenda, and flew to her with 
open arms. 

“Auntie! My Auntie!” gasped Brenda, clinging 
round her neck and kissing her eagerly. 

Here was a scene in the midst of the ruins. The 
lady overcome with emotion. Brenda crying like a 
baby, and Miss Penrose hurrying to the rescue. 

“What’s the matter ?” asked Louise. “Met her aunt ? 
Well, she’s no need to howl about it, has she ? Why are 
they arguing so? We shall be late for lunch if she 
doesn’t come on!” 

But that was just the point in question—Brenda 
would not come on. She seized her aunt firmly by 
the arm and refused to be separated from her. 

“Don’t send me away again! I don’t want to go 
back to school!” she wailed tragically, regardless of 
Miss Penrose, who naturally claimed her pupil. The 
aunt, equally agitated, tried to soothe her, made a frantic 
appeal to be allowed to bear her away to her own hotel, 
but finding Miss Penrose adamant in the matter of part¬ 
ing with one of her pilgrims for even half an hour, she 
kissed her, and persuaded her to rejoin her own party. 

The weeping, protesting Brenda, who was attracting 
undesirable notice among other sightseers in the ruins, 
was led away by Miss Millar, hustled into a taxi to 
hide her tears, and driven off in disgrace, while the 
others followed with Miss Penrose in a tram-car. Later 
on the girls discovered the cause of the trouble. 
Brenda, who was an orphan, had been brought up by 


240 


Captain Peggie 

the aunt, and they adored one another. Unfortunately 
her guardian, who under her father’s will had full 
control over her, returned from India, and decided to 
remove her from the care of her aunt. He had sent 
her to Somerton College, and had arranged that her 
holidays should be passed abroad, or with friends of her 
father’s. 

“There have been fearful squabbles over me,” Brenda 
confided to Peggie. “Mr. Farrant and Auntie Moira 
have never met one another, but they write long letters 
quarrelling about me. Auntie says she’s Mother’s 
sister, and she promised Mother to bring me up and she 
won’t let me go if she can help it, and Mr. Farrant 
says he’s my guardian and has the law on his side, and 
he can send me to any school which he likes. It’s horrid 
to be quarrelled over. I wish I could go home with 
Auntie! I was miserable when I first went to Cavell, 
and it’s brought it all back now I’ve seen her again. 
What am I to do ?” 

“You can’t do anything!” advised Peggie. “Miss 
Penrose has brought you out here, and she can’t let 
your aunt whisk you off goodness knows where! You’re 
in her charge. Do dry your eyes! You’re not so miser¬ 
able as that surely? We’re going to Venice this after¬ 
noon.” 

“It’s all very well for you to talk!” sobbed Brenda. 
“Nobody’s dragged you away from the home where 
you were brought up.” 

It was really most unfortunate. Brenda was thor¬ 
oughly upset by the meeting, and wept at intervals dur¬ 
ing the journey to Venice. She waxed more cheerful 


Venetian Waters 


241 


after a night’s rest, however, and consented to enjoy 
herself. In the midst of such a jolly party and in such 
magic surroundings it was difficult to keep on crying, 
especially as it was not Somerton etiquette to “wear 
the willow”. The girls had enjoyed Milan, and Flo¬ 
rence, and Rome, but they declared the best had been 
left till last when they saw Venice. To stay in a hotel 
which had been a mediaeval palace, and to gaze at canals 
instead of paved streets seemed like living on an en¬ 
chanted isle. If Rome is justly called “The Eternal 
City”, Venice is equally well named “The Queen of 
the Adriatic”, with her glorious old buildings and many 
waterways. Of course the first thing the pilgrims 
wanted to do was to go out in gondolas; the day was 
warm, and after their exhausting fortnight of hard 
sightseeing it was bliss to be rowed about on the Grand 
Canal, where the green water lapped the very walls 
of the ancient palaces, and the medley of rich colors 
under the blue sky was a thing to remember. The 
Rialto bridge, with its associations of Antonio and Shy- 
lock, was a point of special interest, also the Palazzo 
Rezzonico, where Robert Browning, the poet, lived for 
many years after he left Florence, and by the greatest 
good fortune they were witnesses of a Venetian wed¬ 
ding, the prettiest possible affair, where bride, bride¬ 
groom and guests arrived in gaily decorated gondolas, 
and got out at the broad marble flight of steps leading 
to the church of Santa Maria della Salute. 

“We’ve seen a christening at Florence and a wed¬ 
ding here. We ought to see an Italian funeral and then 
we’d be satisfied,” declared Barbara. 


242 


Captain Peggie 

“I happened to see a most impressive funeral once 
at Siena,” said Miss Penrose. “It was one of the 
‘brethren of the Misericordia’. He was buried at sun¬ 
set, and the companions of his order, dressed in black 
robes and hoods which hid their faces all but the eyes, 
followed the bier with lighted torches. As they passed 
through the old streets of Siena I felt as if I were trans¬ 
ported centuries back, and were living in the Middle 
Ages.” 

“I hope we shan’t see any funerals. Miss Penrose 
is welcome to them!” whispered Louise to Peggie. “A 
wedding is more in my line.” 

There were many jokes as they went along. Most 
of them had heard the story of the girl tourist who 
was so struck with the beauties of Venice that she 
wrote home: 

“Dear Mother—I am sitting at the edge of the Grand 
Canal, drinking it all in!” 

but everybody wanted to tell the tale to everybody else, 
till it was voted a chestnut, and utterly taboo. Some 
of the girls had seen Gilbert and Sullivan’s opera The 
Gondoliers , and kept recalling scenes and singing 
snatches of songs; and others, who were fond of 
Shakespeare, tried to imagine the scene as it must have 
looked when Bassanio and Gratiano and Lorenzo and 
Jessica lent romance to the city. Most of them had 
brought cameras and took many snapshots, and a few 
of the more artistic souls tried rapid pencil sketches, 
but these were difficult when the gondolas were per¬ 
petually moving. 

They had chartered their vessels for an hour, and 


Venetian Waters 


243 


when this had elapsed they disembarked at the steps 
by the Palace of the Doge, and went into the great 
square, as Miss Penrose said, “to see the Church of 
San Marco”, and as Louise said, “to see the pigeons”. 
The latter were one of the sights of Venice which the 
girls had keenly anticipated, and they gained first in¬ 
nings. Large flocks of them lived on the roofs of the 
public buildings, and under the arches of St. Mark’s, 
and by old established custom were fed by the visitors. 
Loungers in the square sold peas and Indian corn, and 
the girls, having bought several packets, stretched out 
their hands full of tempting morsels. The pigeons, 
petted by the public, were absolutely tame, and to the 
immense delight of our pilgrims flew fearlessly down 
and perched on their arms, shoulders, and even on their 
hats, so eager were they not to miss their portion. The 
lovely creatures, fluttering against the deep blue of the 
sky, made an exquisite picture, and cameras were busily 
employed, every girl taking a photo of her friend, as 
each naturally wished to have a record of herself 
engaged in feeding the famous pigeons. Louise, who 
liked the feel of their little cold feet on her hand, bought 
Indian corn in extravagant fashion, and could hardly 
be persuaded to leave such a congenial occupation and 
go into San Marco. When she went, however, she was 
glad. She had not raved over many of the foreign 
churches, but this gorgeous vision of Byzantine art 
enthralled her. The oriental style with its marble 
columns, its lustrous gold, its mosaics, and its profuse 
decoration seemed in keeping with the eastern character 
of the city, and to express, as nothing else could do, 


244 


Captain Peggie 

the ancient spirit of Venice, the Queen of the Waters. 
The pomp and splendor, the jewels and enamels, the 
translucent alabaster, the treasures in rock-crystal, agate 
and turquoise suggested the glories of Solomon's tem¬ 
ple, and were worth a visit from the land of Sheba, 
much less from England. Our own stately gray 
cathedrals at home seem to suit our soil and our climate 
and our mode of worship, but this was a glowing gem 
of the Orient, built beneath blazing blue skies by a 
people to whom color was the greatest essential of art. 

There were so many delightful things to be done in 
Venice. As Miss Penrose had prophesied, the girls fell 
in love with the wonderful beads of native manufacture. 
They were sold in strings of every variety of color, 
and the supreme occupation was to mix and re-thread 
them according to personal taste. Each of the party 
prepared several necklaces to take home as presents, 
and made very skilful combinations of big and little 
beads, in beautiful harmonies or contrasts of pinks and 
blues and greens and ambers. 

They went by steamer among the islands of the 
lagoons and visited the Lido, the seaside resort of 
Venice, where rows of small wattle or reed bathing- 
huts decorated the beach, and where picturesque old 
sailors sold marvellous shells and little sea horses which 
they had caught in the Adriatic. Then they took 
gondolas to Murano, the island where the exquisite 
Venetian glass is manufactured, and stood by and 
watched while a small vase was made for each of them 
inside the works. It was curious to see the hot glass, 
soft as toffee, being twisted and molded into beautiful 



UNDER THE ARCHES OF ST. MARK’S 


Page 243 















Venetian Waters 


245 


shapes, and most interesting to think that they had fol¬ 
lowed the evolution of their vases from the very begin¬ 
ning. The only objection to the ornaments was their 
frailty, but each was well packed in dried sea-grass to 
preserve it. The girls had collected so many pretty tri¬ 
fles to take home that their suit-cases had overflowed, 
and they were obliged to buy native baskets in which to 
put their treasures. Fortunately for their pockets most 
of their purchases were quite inexpensive, and owing to 
the rate of foreign exchange of money, a shilling went 
very much further in Italy than it did in England. At 
street stalls and with many of the hawkers who carried 
their wares on trays, the old system of bargaining still 
obtained, the vendor being generally prepared to accept 
about half of what he asked, a tiresome custom which 
involved much waste of time, and a sense of uncer¬ 
tainty as to whether thy had beaten down the price to 
starvation point, or had themselves been hopelessly 
swindled. It was at any rate good practice for their 
elementary acquaintance with the Italian tongue, and 
the sentences they had learnt out of the conversation 
book came in very useful. 

Of the many excitements of Venice the most won¬ 
derful experience of all was the illumination of the 
Grand Canal at night. Numbers of barges, covered 
with colored lights, brought bands of musicians with 
mandolines and guitars, whose songs and choruses, and 
the strum of the accompanying instruments, sounded 
charming across the water. Hotels and palaces and 
private houses hung Japanese lanterns in their windows, 
and though the moonlight was wanting, the scene 


246 


Captain Peggie 

resembled fairyland. As a very special treat our pil¬ 
grims were allowed one evening to embark in gondolas 
and were rowed up and down the canal close to the 
festive barges, a rather expensive propinquity, how¬ 
ever, for a gaily attired musician would jump lightly 
and gracefully into any gondola which approached 
sufficiently near, and would rattle a collecting box sug¬ 
gestively, while the gondoliers, no doubt bribed 'before¬ 
hand, gave every opportunity for the picturesque 
bandits to levy toll on the good-natured tourists. Some 
fireworks, set off at the Grand Hotel, added a finishing 
touch to the delightful scene, and the flare of colored 
lights and the glimmer of falling green stars were re¬ 
flected in the water below till they seemed to be float¬ 
ing on a surface of sparkling radiance. 

The glamour and the brilliance of it all excited 
Louise to the pitch of what might have been a fatal 
adventure. She had watched several scarlet-sashed 
agile figures leap easily overboard from the barges, and 
when her own gondola happened to come side by side 
with that containing Brenda and Barbara she was fired 
to emulate them, and 4 jumping up in her seat would have 
attempted to transfer her quarters had not Peggie 
seized her firmly round the waist and dragged her back. 

“Louise! what are you doing? Are you mad?” cried 
several agitated voices. The gondoliers shouted and 
gesticulated, and Miss Millar, who was escorting their 
portion of the party, called out threats to take her back 
immediately unless she kept to her place in quiet. 

“You idiot! you'd have been in the canal in half a 
second!” chided Peggie. “You said you didn’t want to 


Venetian Waters 


247 


see a Venetian funeral, but we should have seen one, 
if you’d tried such a stupid trick! Don’t you know you 
ought to sit still in a boat ?” 

“Those men hop about quite easily!” 

“Oh, I daresay! They’re used to it! But we don’t 
want you to upset the gondola, thanks! We’d rather 
be on the* Grand Canal than in it!” 

There seemed to be no end to the enchantments of 
fascinating Venice; there were glorious blood-red sun¬ 
sets, when the colored sails of the fishing-boats glowed 
crimson as the far off sky; there were pearly, opal- 
hued mornings, when the sun shone in silver ripples 
on the lagoons, and blue noontides, when the deep 
shadows of the arcades were a grateful shelter from 
the white blazing glare of the piazza. There were many 
amusing local scenes to watch, sometimes a woman 
from a top window would let down a basket by a cord 
into a vegetable barge, drawn up in the canal below, 
and would haul back salad and onions and lettuces, an 
easy way of marketing which attracted the girls’ 
cameras, though it was difficult to get a good snap-shot. 
Walking through Venice was a quaint experience. The 
streets, so called, consisted of a maze of narrow alleys 
running at the backs of houses the fronts of which faced 
the canals. Yet there was the native life of the place, 
lace-makers seated at their doors, girls carrying great 
brass water pots from the public fountains, vegetable 
and orange vendors selling their wares under large 
green umbrellas, and once our party had the good 
fortune to spy, what is growing rare in Italy now, a 
bound-up bambino, that is to say a baby with its little 


248 


Captain Peggie 

body and legs swathed so tightly in bandages that it 
resembles a cocoon, an old mediseval fashion, intended 
to produce straight limbs, but which is happily passing 
away in these more enlightened days of culture. The 
bambino was the most charming and picturesque little 
object, with big dark eyes, and a lace cap, and fat pink 
hands grasping a very modern looking teething ring. 
As it was in the arms of a smiling elder sister, who 
seemed ready to make friends with a band of English 
girls, some of our pilgrims begged the privilege of hold¬ 
ing it, and the small good-tempered morsel of humanity 
was passed from one to another of an eager row of 
would-be nurses until he finally rebelled and howled. 

“Bless him! Isn’t he a beauty ? Just like those Della 
Robbia pictures on blue backgrounds that we bought 
at Florence!” purred Peggie, kissing the smooth brown 
cheek rapturously. 

“He’s so stiff with bandages, poor darling, it feels 
like nursing the poker!” declared Louise. 

“Do they ever take them off?” asked Barbara. 

“Oh I hope so! Surely at night!” 

“British babies wouldn’t put up with it, but I suppose 
he’s used to it and doesn’t mind. I expect they hang 
him up on- a nail on the wall when they want him out 
of the way. I hope his legs will be extra straight when 
he grows up. They ought to be after that!” 

“On the contrary,” said Miss Penrose, “there are 
more cripples in Italy than in England, and the habit 
of binding the babies in this fashion may be responsible 
for .some of them. Nature meant the little limbs to kick 
about, and not to be tied up like mummies.” 


.Venetian Waters 


249 


“Vm glad I’ve nursed him anyway! Lulu, you took 
a snap-shot of me? Good! That’ll be a piece of ‘local 
color’ to show my friends when I go home, won’t it?” 

It was hard to say good-bye to bewitching, enchant¬ 
ing Venice, but the holiday was growing short, and 
our pilgrims were obliged to set their faces towards 
home again. They broke the journey at Verona, partly 
to avoid spending the night in the train, and partly to 
see the historic haunts of Romeo and Juliet. The old 
town was fascinating in the extreme, a mixture of 
Roman and mediaeval. They saw the magnificent am¬ 
phitheatre, in wonderful preservation, and the ancient 
forum, which is still the fruit and vegetable market, 
and is one of the most picturesque squares in Italy. 
Everything in Verona seemed connected with romance; 
outside the cathedral were bas-reliefs of Roland and 
Oliver, the two great champions of Charlemagne, 
roughly carved as long ago as 1135, and at the castle 
by the river, so the legend runs, beautiful golden-haired 
Rosamund, daughter of the conquered ruler of Verona, 
and married against her will to Alboin, King of the 
Lombards, was forced by her barbarian husband to 
drink wine out of her own father’s skull, an insult which 
the shuddering Queen dared not disobey, but repaid 
afterwards with a terrible revenge. 

Shakespeare’s play of Romeo and Juliet was founded 
on events which actually occurred in Verona, and there 
were various places in the city pointed out as having 
belonged to Montagu or Capulet. On the whole these 
were most disappointing. The old house, said to be 
that of Juliet’s parents, overhung the street, and was 


250 


Captain Peggie 

quite destitute of the balcony and garden immortalized 
in the famous love scene, while Juliet’s tomb was an 
empty mediaeval sarcophagus in a suppressed Franciscan 
chapel inside a garden. The girls expecting to find 
some glorious monument, were taken by a caretaker 
into a neglected building where stood the huge marble 
coffin. There was no lovely Juliet inside, yet it was 
not empty. To the disgust of our pilgrims it was full 
to the brim with visiting-cards, left by tourists in 
memory of having paid their respects to the spot. The 
piles of old, dusty cards gave an indescribably sordid 
and unattractive appearance to the scene. 

'‘How can people do it? It’s as bad as scribbling 
your name on Milan Cathedral!” exclaimed Barbara 
indignantly. 

“Take me away. It upsets my ideas about Juliet. 
I’d rather see it all on the stage,” said Peggie, who had 
once witnessed a performance of the romantic play with 
full accessories of limelight and scenery, and was not 
prepared for prosaic realities. 

Verona was the last stopping-place of their tour in 
Italy, and next morning they set out for the railway 
station, and resigned themselves to a long day and 
night’s journey in the train. Paris, with beds, was a 
welcome rest, and they had time for a very hurried 
peep at the fashionable city before they were obliged to 
catch the express to Dieppe. Fortunately for Miss 
Millar, Barbara, Peggie and other sufferers from mal 
de mer, the sea was calm, they performed the crossing 
in comparative comfort, and were able to stand on deck 


Venetian Waters 


251 


and wave a welcome to the shores of Albion as the 
vessel steamed into harbor. 

“It’s been glorious! Simply glorious!” said Peggie, 
summing up her impressions of the tour. “I’ve en¬ 
joyed every single minute of it. I didn’t know there 
was so much to see in the world. I believe I feel years 
older! Quite a travelled lady in fact. I do hope our 
snap-shots will come out well! We must have an ex¬ 
hibition of them all, and of our postcards, I expect the 
school will like to see them. My diary is going home 
to Mother. Lulu, I’m writing a special letter to Uncle 
and Auntie. I’ll try to tell them what we’ve seen, and 
I want to say thank you to them for just the most 
splendiferous treat of my life. They were absolutely 
dears to send me as well as you !” 


CHAPTER XIX 


The Wet Saturday Club 

The summer term had come, and according to the 
custom of the college, as much time as possible was 
spent by the girls out of doors. Their school gardens, 
which they had prepared in the spring, began to show 
the reward of early work, and those who had entered 
for the July Flower Show were busy weeding, water¬ 
ing, tending their plants, and demolishing slugs. Many 
of the girls had brought back bicycles after Easter, 
and cycle excursions were organized on Saturdays to 
various points of interest in the neighborhood. Cricket 
took the place of hockey for the daily games hour from 
12 to 1 o'clock, and there were matches on certain 
afternoons. The long light evenings gave time for 
tennis after preparation, and some enthusiasts even 
got in a set before breakfast. 

It was Peggie’s last season of office at Bronte. Next 
September she would have passed from the Middle 
School, and would be a senior at Austen, where her 
name was already entered. She was almost feverishly 
anxious to make a success of this final term, and to leave 
the credit of her house higher than she had found it. 
She worked her best in school, though being more of a 
“plodder” than a “star pupil” she had little chance for 
252 


The Wet Saturday Club 253 

honors against several clever girls in Nightingale and 
Cavell, or even against Maggie Fowler, whose totals 
were generally above her own. Being captain gave her 
many interests, but rather took up her time. It was 
often necessary to act umpire at the tennis court and 
train others instead of playing herself, and her own 
garden suffered while she bestowed advice on younger 
girls who came to ask for her help in the growing of 
their prize blossoms. It was all for the good of Bronte, 
but it did not give her the opportunity she craved of 
doing some special thing to win a “distinction” for the 
house. 

“I haven’t been much of a champion so far,” she 
thought sadly. “I don’t carry all the school honors off 
like Barbara. I’m afraid my name won’t be written in 
gold letters as captain.” 

Yet Peggie was most tremendously in request at her 
hostel. She was ever ready to listen, and the girls had 
begun to gravitate to her like needles to a magnet, cer¬ 
tain of sympathy and real practical help in any difficulty. 
She always seemed to take people by the right handle 
and, without any preaching, to get the best out of them. 
Her own standards were very high, and during her two 
terms of office, almost unconsciously the tone of the 
house had risen, and certain little meannesses and lapses 
from truth and honor which were current before had 
happily ceased. 

“Peggie’s such a dear!” said Louise once. “She 
helped me to develop my photos before she touched 
her own. She said, of course, a captain ought to. But 
I don’t know—some captains would just grab every- 


254 


Captain Peggie 

thing as their right. I suppose it’s entirely as you look 
at it. When I first came I thought it must be glorious 
to be the head of the house, and be able to order every¬ 
body about, but now I think it’s a jolly hard job if 
you do it as Pegs does. I shouldn’t like to be bothered 
with folks continually coming and wanting me the 
whole day long.” 

If Peggie had not won challenge cups or other laurels 
for Bronte, she at least had the honor of instituting 
the Wet Saturday Afternoon Club. It was her own 
idea entirely. The weather during May had been most 
disappointing, and matches and tournaments had been 
regretfully abandoned. 

“What we want is this,” said Captain Peggie, ex¬ 
plaining her project in the boarders’ sitting-room, “we 
ought to have a club for rainy days. Don’t laugh! I 
don’t mean a collecting-box to encourage thrift, or a 
Burial Society. What I do mean is this—when it’s wet 
we all grouse about and stare out of the window and 
wonder what we shall do. And everybody is so down 
in the dumps that nobody can think of anything, and 
we just go on staring at the weather till we feel blue- 
moldy. Well—yes, I’m coming to the point, don’t 
hurry me—I propose that we start a club, and that cer¬ 
tain members must arrange to have certain things all 
prepared to amuse us, perfectly ready, so that they can 
turn on the entertainment tap in a minute, and give us 
a good time.” 

“Rather a brainy notion!” approved Helen. “I sup¬ 
pose you mean have a competition of some sort?” 


The Wet Saturday Club 2 55 

“Certainly, and be able to produce it with cards 
written out beforehand, or whatever was wanted for 
it handy, so that we don’t waste half the afternoon 
hunting about for things.” 

“We might have a small subscription for a prize 
fund.” 

“Rather! And someone could recite or make up a 
story, or show card tricks. So long as each member 
has a stunt she can bring forward we’ll manage to have 
some fun out of it. Now then, who’ll join? Names, 
please!” 

Everybody joined, even those girls who protested 
that they would be quite unable to make suggestions, 
and begged that their names might be put last on the 
list of proposed entertainers, in the hope that they might 
never be called upon. 

“Can’t put the whole bunch of you last!” said Peggie. 
“Some of you’ll have to sparkle, so make up your minds 
to it. Six will be enough for the first what d’you call 
it—symposium—conversazione, anything you like! I 
propose Connie, Dorothy, Helen, Maggie, Enid, and 
Mary.” 

“Leave me out of it and put down yourself, please 1” 
said Mary promptly. “You know I’ve no parlor tricks 1” 

“Yes, Peggie, you must be on the first entertainment 
committee!” agreed the others. 

“Very well then, we six are going to be prepared to 
give a special emergency performance any time it’s re¬ 
quired.” 

“And we’re prepared to act audience, so there we 
are!” 


256 


Captain Peggie 

Of course the next two Saturdays were fine: the 
mere fact of instituting such a society was enough to 
make the weather clear up, like taking your umbrella 
when you’ve a new hat on, or putting up a tent for a 
garden-party. But on the Saturday after that came an 
afternoon of hopeless wet, when the grass was soppy 
and sodden, and the roads muddy, and even “mackin¬ 
tosh rambles” were impossible. Twenty-five girls, bit¬ 
terly disappointed that cricket and tennis were off, 
stared out forlornly at the pelting rain, till somebody 
suddenly suggested the Club. 

“Here you six stars! When are you going to begin 
and twinkle?” demanded Joyce. 

“Don’t alarm yourselves, we’re quite ready for you! 
Seats unreserved, so you must scramble for them! 
Don’t break the furniture, please! Gently! Do you 
want Miss Sheppard coming in to ask if we’re having 
a Parliamentary election?” 

It took a little while to get the audience suitably 
seated. The girls were in a frolicsome mood, and could 
not resist some mild ragging. 

“Sit next to me, Violet!” 

“Sorry, but I’m grafted on to Joan!” 

“Oh well! If other lips have loved you 1 don’t care !” 

“I can’t see for your big head, Kathleen. I wish 
you’d cut it off!” 

“Take me on your lap! I’m only a little one!” 

“May we sit on the table?” 

“Programmes penny each!” 


The Wet Saturday Club 2 57 

It was at this juncture that Louise, who had hastily- 
disappeared, came back bearing a large tin of toffee. 
She held it aloft triumphantly. 

“It was sent me yesterday. So I put it by for a rainy 
day. I’m a fine example of thrift, and ‘Go to the ant, 
thou sluggard' and all the rest of it. I'm just oozing 
with righteousness. I didn’t say you were to have any, 
though? Shan’t I be a socialist if I share round what 
I've saved? Don't throw things at me—you’ll break 
my halo! Remember I'm Saint Louise! You may 
hand round the box if you like. Isn’t that saintly of 
me? I'm getting too good to live. Nothing remains 
for me now but to write my memoirs and pop off. 
Send me a wreath when I’m gone, won’t you ?” 

Blissfully sucking big pieces of home-made toffee, 
the audience, almost speechless for the present, waited 
to be entertained. 

“The first item,” announced Peggie, “is an original 
story by Miss Maggie Fowler, the talented authoress 
of our Christmas play ‘Smart Relations’. It’s entitled 
‘Mixed Morals’.” 

“Sounds very improving!” gulped Joyce. 

“Is it going to be a shot at me?” Violet managed to 
ask. 

“It’s not a shot at anybody! Be quiet, and let Maggie 
begin.” 

Maggie, rather shy, but beaming through her specta¬ 
cles, was waiting for her innings. Before anybody else 
had time to interrupt she commenced to read aloud her 
story. 


2 5 8 


Captain Peggie 


MIXED MORALS 

Once upon a time there lived two sisters, and their names 
were Cynthia and Inez. Cynthia was very, very fair and very, 
very beautiful and very, very good. She was a story-book 
girl, so you see because her hair was flaxen and her eyes were 
blue she just had to be an angel—she couldn’t help it. Fair 
heroines are always saints. Inez, on the contrary, had flash¬ 
ing black eyes and raven hair. She was beautiful in the way 
that witches are beautiful, but she was very, very bad. Dark 
heroines are always bad, so Inez couldn’t help being a sinner 
any more than Cynthia could help being a saint. The sisters 
were twins, but how they happened to be so unlike, nobody 
knew. Most twins are the same to their very hair ribbons, 
and when they exchange those they are able to have great 
fun at school because the mistresses can’t tell which is which. 
There could be no amusement of this kind for poor little 
Cynthia and Inez; each had to “dree her ain weird” and live 
up to what the story-books expected from her. It got rather 
monotonous at their happy home to be always praising Cyn¬ 
thia and always scolding Inez, so one day their father said to 
their mother: 

“My dear, if we don’t take care we shall lose both our 
children. I felt Cynthia’s shoulders this morning, and find 
she is sprouting wings, and if we allow these to grow she will 
very soon fly away and leave us. On the other hand, I re¬ 
moved a portion of Inez’s raven hair from her brow, and 
found what are suspiciously like the beginnings of horns! 
This will not do at all.” 

“We must take steps at once about it,” agreed the mother. 

So they first went to a doctor, and he looked through all 
his medical books but said he couldn’t find any operation for 
removing wings or horns, and referred them to the hospital, 
and the hospital hadn’t any beds vacant, and in the meantime 
Cynthia’s wings were coming on so fast they were beginning 
to sprout feathers. 


The Wet Saturday Club 259 

“Something must be done!” said her father. 

Then they went to a wise woman, who had a little office 
in town and gave advice to worried parents, and they asked 
her how they could prevent Cynthia being so very, very good 
and Inez being so very, very bad. The wise woman nodded 
her head and thought out the problem, then at last she said: 

“Try the influence of environment Mix their complexions 
and you will mix their morals.” 

She wrote out her prescription on a piece of paper, and 
they took it home and pondered over it. After a while the 
father thought he understood, and he told the mother what the 
wise woman meant. The idea rather staggered her at first, 
but afterwards she agreed with its wisdom: they determined 
to change their childrens complexions! First they took Cyn¬ 
thia and stained her face slightly with walnut juice, and dyed 
her flaxen hair black as ebony. She didn’t look angelic any 
longer, and when you don’t look an angel it isn’t worth while 
behaving as one. Then they took Inez, and they bleached her 
raven hair with soda and dyed it a lovely golden shade, and 
they powdered and rouged her face till there was nothing 
left dark about her but her eyes, and eyes can’t flash out of 
a fair face; at least they never do in story-books. They gave 
them each a new name too; they called Cynthia Betty, and 
they called Inez Priscilla. The result was marvellous. In 
less than a fortnight Betty’s wings, feathers and all, had dis¬ 
appeared back inside her shoulders, and as for Priscilla her 
horns vanished at the first touch of her golden hair. There 
was still enough good in Betty to prevent her growing as bad 
as Inez had been, and Priscilla’s dark eyes debarred her from 
sainthood, so their parents decided that their morals were 
now thoroughly well mixed, and they sent a check to the wise 
woman with a grateful letter of thanks and permission to use 
their names as a testimonial when other fathers and mothers, 
in difficulties over their children, should apply for advice at 
the little office in town. 


2 Go 


Captain Peggie 

When the girls had laughed over Maggie’s rather 
whimsical story, it was Helen’s turn to act entertainer. 
She recited “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes, in 
very spirited style, though as one or two of the others 
had also learnt it in the elocution class it was a trifle 
stale to part of the audience. They clapped mag¬ 
nanimously however, as it would hardly have been 
school etiquette to do otherwise. 

Peggie, who came next on the programme, had pre¬ 
pared a competition. She produced twenty-four clothes- 
pegs, together with a large number of sheets of colored 
tissue paper. 

“What you’ve got to do,” she announced, “is to 
dress the clothes-pegs up like dolls in fancy costumes. 
You can draw faces on the knobs, and you must cut 
the costumes from the tissue paper. You may all scoot 
to fetch scissors and needles and thread, but don’t be 
long about it. I give you five minutes, then I shall 
say ‘Begin!’ No, I’m not going to compete myself. 
It wouldn’t seem fair when this is my show. I shall act 
time-keeper. You’ll be allowed twenty minutes, then 
we’ll have the manikin parade.” 

There was an exodus for work-baskets, then twenty- 
four pairs of hands began to be very busy with tissue 
paper and scissors, cutting out and contriving and fit¬ 
ting on. Some girls retired to comers to work in 
private, others formed groups and compared notes, 
laughing over their efforts. When Peggie , called 
“Time!” there was a general howl of anguish, and an 
agonized appeal for just a few minutes more. 

“Hurry up then! We can’t wait all afternoon! 


The Wet Saturday Club 261 

You're rather a set of slow-coaches, aren’t you? You 
might be dressing giants instead of clothes-pegs!” 

At last all the quaint little dolls were finished, and 
were placed, twenty-four of them, in a row along the 
table, with a number attached to each. Some of them 
were really very cleverly managed. There was a hos¬ 
pital nurse, in cap and apron; a lady in a crinoline, 
with a wreath of flowers on her head; a baby in long 
white robe; an Arab; Red Riding Hood; an Irish 
colleen; a sailor; a Turkish lady with a veil, and many 
others. It was quite surprising how much it was 
possible to make out of the materials provided. 

“The vote will be by ballot,” said Captain Peggie, 
cutting paper into twenty-five strips. “You must simply 
write the number of the one you think the best, fold 
your slip and hand it in, and I’ll shuffle them and count.” 

Nothing could have seemed fairer. Everyone took 
a pencil, and complied with the regulations. The slips 
were shuffled and the counting began. The voting was 
unanimously in favor of the lady with the crinoline, 
whose elaborate get-up surpassed all the other attempts. 

“Nineteen — twenty — twenty-one — twenty-two — 
twenty-three — twenty-four — twenty-five — Why, the 
early Victorian lady has got all the votes! Betty, I 
congratulate you!” said Peggie. “You’ve simply had 
a walk over!” 

“Are there twenty-five votes for No. 17?” asked 
Helen. “You’re quite sure?” 

“Help me to count them again!” 

Helen did so, meanwhile whispering something which 
brought a shade across the captain’s face. 


262 


Captain Peggie 

“I hadn’t thought of that. I must inquire into it,” 
she replied. Then turning to the girls she said: “There 
were twenty-four competitors and I also had a vote. 
Now if twenty-five votes are recorded for the same 
doll, that means that the winning competitor must have 
voted for her own entry.” 

Everybody turned and looked at Betty, who blushed 
scarlet. 

“I didn’t know it was forbidden!” she murmured. 

“It’s very unsporting, and quite against school eti¬ 
quette ! I should have thought you’d have know that!” 

“I’ll vote for Red Riding Hood then!” 

“It won’t make any difference to the prize though, 
will it ?” sniffed Kathleen scornfully. 

“I don’t want any prize, thanks! I’d rather not have 
it,” said Betty. “Keep it for another competition.” 

As an electric wave of indignation was circulating 
round the room, Captain Peggie judged it wise to agree 
and to withhold the prize. To restore the atmosphere, 
she suggested the next item on the programme, a duet 
on two combs by Connie and Enid, who gave a rather 
ear-splitting performance of popular airs, and would 
have gone on for ever if the audience had not risen in 
rebellion and confiscated the instruments. 

“You’ve had your turns and it’s mine now! I don’t 
mean to be crowded out!” declared Dorothy. 

“All right! Twinkle, twinkle, little star! Go on 
and shine, by all manner of means! Your humble 
slaves are ready to hang upon your words.” 

Dorothy, not to be outdone by Maggie in literary 


The Wet Saturday Club 263 

composition, had also written a story, and was terribly 
afraid that there might not be time left to listen to it 
She began therefore at once, and read very fast. 

HOW THEY CURED DORIS 

When Mr. and Mrs. Bannerman went away for a week’s 
holiday by themselves at Brighton, they left Doris in charge 
of the rest of the children. It was partly because she was the 
eldest, and partly because they could trust her to keep the 
family up to the mark. 

“Make Godfrey get up in the morning, and see that Phillis 
does her practising, and be sure you all learn your holiday 
tasks!” said Mrs. Bannerman, before she left, and Doris had 
promised “I will”. 

She kept her word too. Precisely at 7:30 she entered her 
brothers’ bedroom armed with a wet sponge, and routed them 
out of bed with terrible energy. She sat over Phillis while 
that unwilling damsel played her scales; she hunted out the 
history book from which Bert and Bunty must learn their holi¬ 
day tasks; she doled out the jam at tea-time, and performed 
other unwelcomed duties with what her brothers and sisters 
considered quite unnecessary zeal. She was so virtuous over it 
and waxed so aggressively moral that they held a secret in¬ 
dignation meeting when her back was safely turned. 

“I vote we don’t do a single thing she says,” sulked God¬ 
frey. 

“Then she’ll tell Mother,” said Bert. 

“She says she promised Mother to make us work,” put in 
Bunty. “I shan’t work for her .” 

“I’m not going to be ordered about by Doris,” said Godfrey. 

“You sillies, you’re on the wrong tack altogether,” said Phil¬ 
lis. “Don’t you see Dorrie’s enjoying herself? She likes super¬ 
intending our work—very well then, let’s keep her busy, and 
perhaps she’ll get tired of it Listen and I’ll tell you what to 
do.” 


264 


Captain Peggie 

So the younger ones put their heads together and organized 
a campaign for outdoing Doris in goodness. Next morning 
they were up early, and at the breakfast-table before she was, 
and spoke virtuously against being late. They all learnt 
holiday tasks and insisted that she must hear them, they hunted 
up pieces of sewing or any kind of work which required 
assistance, and took them to her for advice and help. Phillis 
made her practice duets, and asked her to play the accompani¬ 
ments to songs. As fast as one had finished with her another 
would demand her attention; they begged her to read aloud 
or to teach them pieces of poetry. Doris, flattered at first, 
found she had not a single moment to herself, and began to 
tire of this sudden burst of virtue on the part of the family. 

“Look here! I’m not a holiday governess,” she remonstrated 
at last. 

“Aren’t you? I thought that was your job. Then if you’re 
not, for goodness’ sake let us alone,” answered Phillis. “We 
won’t worry you if you won’t worry us.” 

It was rather a climb down for Doris, but as the holiday 
tasks were all learnt by now she considered it safe to relax 
discipline for the last couple of days, during which time the 
family let off steam. When Mr. and Mrs. Bannerman re¬ 
turned from their holiday at Brighton they found five model 
children waiting to welcome them. 

“I was afraid the younger ones might give trouble, be¬ 
cause dear Doris is apt to be just a little dictatorial at times. 
Her manner seems much improved,” said Mrs. Bannerman to 
her husband. 

“Not nearly so domineering,” agreed Mr. Bannerman. “I 
suppose the sense of responsibility has worked the change.’’ 

But the young folks kept their secret, and neither Father 
nor Mother got to know how they had cured Doris. 

The girls clapped as Dorothy, quite breathless with 
reading fast, came to the end of her “moral story”. 
After all, she need not have hurried so much, for there 


The Wet Saturday Club 265 

was a little time left before tea, and as several members 
of the audience began pulling manuscripts from their 
pockets, and coughing suggestively, as if to intimate 
that they could contribute to the entertainment if asked, 
Peggie took the hint and invited the outsiders to give 
their “turns”. Joyce stood up at once, palpably pleased. 

“I brought a little thing of my own, just in case you 
might run short,” she explained. “Of course I’ll read 
it if you really want it. Shall I ?” 

“Go on!” encouraged the audience. So she began. 

A NOVEL GONE WRONG 

Miranda Gwendolen Montgomery lay on a magnificent 
couch in the marquee at her father’s ancestral home. Within 
her reach lay a grand piano, a gramophone, a magnificent St. 
Bernard dog, a priceleess violin, a Persian kitten, a dozen 
boxes of chocolates, a typewriter, a new bicycle, and a few 
other articles which she might happen to want. A beautiful 
girl was Miranda Gwendolen, with her lily-white cheeks, her 
raven eyes, her cherry lips, and her adorable little pink nose. 
She never had anything else to do but to lie on the couch in 
the marquee of her father’s ancestral home—or if she had 
she didn’t do it, because she was found there in every chapter. 
As for Lord Algernon Ponsonby de Vernon, he was the image 
of a Greek statue—a rather awkward thing to resemble be¬ 
cause it generally has an arm off and often lacks its nose. His 
hair was a shade more golden than the gold braid of his uni¬ 
form, his eyes flashed fire so constantly that he could light his 
cigarettes at them, and when he tossed his head, as frequently 
happened, he was always able to catch it again immediately 
without accidents. He strode into the marquee as usual one 
day, and after turning on his heel, a manoeuvre he was fond 
of executing, he threw himself on one knee before his lady 
love. 


266 


Captain Peggie 

“Most devotedly adored one!” he exclaimed in luscious, 
gurgling accents. “Through countless centuries of transmigra¬ 
tions I have loved you and lost you. In this incarnation at 
least let us be happy. My yacht awaits us. We will fly to 
Gretna Green on the wings of the wind!” 

Miranda Gwendolen dropped the grand piano, and the price¬ 
less violin, and the St. Bernard dog, and the other trifles which 
were amusing her, and threw her long ivory fingers over her 
swan-like face. She was a born coquette. 

“This is so sudden,” she murmured, but she got up from 
the couch for fear he might change his mind, and rang the 
bell for her suit-case. She had always been prepared for an 
elopement. 

So they started on the yacht for Gretna Green, and her 
noble father pursued them in a battleship, but alack! before 
they reached the shore of Bonnie Scotland the tempest lowered 
o’er them and they disappeared in a waterspout. They were 
never heard of more, and their empty graves lie open on the 
lone hillside. 

Joyce was only just in time to finish her effusion 
for the first bell now rang for tea, and the girls were 
obliged to scatter and wash their hands, having amused 
themselves quite tolerably for a wet afternoon. 

“It’s clearing a little,” announced Peggie, looking 
anxiously through the window. “We may get a ten 
minutes’ run before we go to Folk Dancing. Saturday 
isn’t quite Saturday unless we’re out somewhere.” 

“But the club’s a great deal better than just mooning 
about the house. I vote we keep it up, and have another 
programme ready for next wet day,” said Dorothy. 


CHAPTER XX 


The School Makes Hay 

There were so many delightful things to do during 
the summer term that the difficulty was to find enough 
spare time to give to them all. A certain section of 
the school was artistic, and camp stools and easels were 
set up in various beauty spots of the grounds. Helen, 
since her study sheet had won a distinction for Bronte, 
had taken keenly to sketching, and Peggie also was 
enjoying the possession of an oil paint box and palette, 
fired by the remembrance of the pictures she had seen 
in Florence. 

'‘Of course I can’t ever paint like the old masters,” 
she said, “but even Raphael had to begin to learn some 
time. I’d rather work in oils than water-colors.” 

“We shall have you painting a study of St. Sebastian 
stuck full of arrows, I suppose!” said Louise. “He 
seemed the favorite subject at most of the galleries we 
saw.” 

“If you’ll stand as model!” 

“No thanks!” 

Among the girls who had shared the delightful “cul¬ 
ture trip” to Italy there was now a special bond of 
union, and though they might belong to different houses 
they often met and exchanged chats on past experiences. 

267 


268 


Captain Peggie 

This was particularly the case with Peggie, Louise, and 
Brenda. The three had generally shared a bedroom 
together while abroad, and the cousins had grown very 
friendly with Brenda. Once her shyness was conquered 
she was a pleasant girl, and the fact that she was an 
orphan, and a subject of dispute between her guardian 
and her aunt, invested her with rather an element of 
romance, and gave her almost the interest of the 
heroine of a novel. Especially when Brenda, as the 
weeks rolled on, began to throw out certain dark hints, 
and make mysterious allusions which she refused to 
explain. She asked questions about taxi fares and 
railway fares, and once when Peggie talked about the 
flower-show, she said she probably should not be there 
for it. 

“Why, old sport! Are you going to pop off or 
elope ?” 

“Neither/’ blushed Brenda, looking uncomfortable, 
“only—well! I probably shan’t be there—that’s all!” 

“Going to get expelled?” laughed Louise. “Wait till 
the cycle parade is over. We shall want every machine 
we have for the show. How are you going to work it, 
old thing?” 

But Brenda shook her head more mysteriously than 
ever. 

“I can’t—I daren’t tell you! It’s a secret at present. 
But you’ll find out some day. A girl of fifteen oughtn’t 
to be treated like a baby. She’s quite old enough to 
choose for herself where she wants to live.” 

“Are you the said girl ?” asked Louise curiously. 


The School Makes Hay 269 

“Perhaps I may be, perhaps I mayn’t. Don’t try to 
know any more, for I mustn’t tell!” 

This enigmatical attitude was puzzling, and both the 
cousins agreed that there was certainly “something in 
the wind” where Brenda was concerned, the exact 
nature of which they were not able to guess. They 
realized that she rather enjoyed posing as heroine, or 
she would not have mentioned the matter at all, but 
they sympathized immensely, and were ready to listen 
to any interesting details that might be divulged. Mean¬ 
time Brenda, inwardly pondering over secrets, took 
her usual outward part in the school life, and played 
tennis and cricket as if she were an ordinary girl and 
not a bone of contention and a subject of quarrel. 

Somerton College, which possessed a farm and many 
acres of land, had several large hayfields, and towards 
the end of June, when the grass was ripe and the 
mowers had done their work, the whole school turned 
out for an Arcadian revel and tossed hay. It was an 
annual event, and one which they much enjoyed, 
especially as tea was carried into the meadows and they 
sat on the sweet-smelling cocks eating scones and jam 
tartlets, and feeling they were “back-to-the-land” 
workers who had earned their picnic. Several after¬ 
noons were devoted to this agricultural pastime, and 
two large stacks, the result of their labors, stood at the 
back of the farm buildings. On the fourth day, when 
everybody was busy as usual “doing her bit”, Brenda, 
who had been growing more and more mysterious in 
her communications, beckoned Louise aside into the 
shelter of some bushes. 


270 


Captain Peggie 

“I’ve something to tell you!” she confided. “I want 
you to help me. Auntie and I have decided that we 
can’t be separated any longer, and I’m going to run 
away with her! She’s to have a taxi waiting in the lane 
below at half-past three. I’ve hidden my suit-case in 
the hedge all ready. Will you walk with me down the 
field, because it won’t look so marked as if I went all 
alone? Miss Jones doesn’t like to see us wandering 
about by ourselves. I thought I might trust you!” 

“So you can!” answered Louise impulsively. “So 
this was your big secret! Have you told Pegs ?” 

Brenda shook her head. The fact was she considered 
Louise the more vulnerable of the cousins, and the 
more likely of the two to give her the support she 
wanted. 

“We’ll stroll as if we were just tired of tossing hay, 
and taking a turn to hunt for flowers,” she suggested. 
“The taxi is to hoot when it arrives in the lane. I’m 
so excited I don’t know what to do with myself.” 

Such a Gretna Green affair as running away with 
your own aunt in a taxi appealed to Louise. She thought 
it a brilliant idea, and was perfectly willing to act cover 
to Brenda’s retreat. The two girls walked nonchalantly 
along the hedgerow, picking bunches of wild roses, till 
sheltered by an elderberry tree, they managed to skip 
over a wooden fence into the field that bordered the 
lane. Here they sat under the shade of a bush, and 
waited for the hoot of the motor. 

Meantime something else that intimately concerned 
Brenda was happening at the school. Peggie had been 
sent from the hay-making to deliver a message at the 


The School Makes Hay 271 

office, when who should come out of the study but 
Miss Penrose herself and a gentleman. 

“Here’s one of the girls! She’ll take you to the 
field if you care to see what our young people are do¬ 
ing. I’m so sorry I can’t go with you myself,” said the 
head mistress, addressing her visitor, then turning to 
Peggie she continued, “Is Brenda making hay? This 
is Mr. Farrant, her guardian. Will you show him the 
way to the meadows and find Brenda for him? Tell 
her I say she may have an exeat for this afternoon.” 

Deeply interested, Peggie started forth as guide. 
Mr. Farrant was middle-aged and good-looking and 
extremely pleasant. He asked many questions about 
the college, and made himself so agreeable, as they 
walked along, that she began to think that Brenda was 
an extremely lucky girl to have so jolly a guardian. 
Arrived at the hay-field Peggie made a search for her 
friend, and asked various parties of workers if they 
had seen her. 

“Are you wanting Brenda?” said Joyce. “Why, she 
hopped over that hedge with Louise only a few minutes 
ago. You’ll find them in the next field.” 

So across the fence went Peggie and Mr. Farrant, 
and were fortunate enough to land on the other side 
just in time to catch a vision of the objects of their 
search whisking over a stile into the lane, in response 
to the insistent hooting of a motor-horn. 

“Brenda! Louise!” shouted Peggie, and started 
running. 

Never was elopement so neatly nipped in the bud. 
The runaway was in the very act of stepping into the 


272 


Captain Peggie 

taxi, and the driver was starting his engine, when on 
to the scene hurried Peggie and the astonished guardian, 
like people in the third act of a play. Mr. Far rant took 
one comprehensive glance at the taxi and at the very 
pretty lady inside, and at Brenda with the suit-case in 
her guilty hand, and seemed to grasp what was happen¬ 
ing. He smiled with the air of a man who is master 
of the situation, then he said quietly and pleasantly: 

“Well, Brenda! ''I’ve been looking for you. Miss 
Penrose says you may have a half-holiday and come 
out for a jaunt with me. Is this your Aunt Miss 
Ingram? Please ask her if she will do us the honor 
of coming to tea with us in Baddesley. I left my car 
outside the college, but if Miss Ingram does not mind 
dismissing her taxi and walking back across the fields, 
I shall be delighted to run you both to the Wells, and 
we’ll have a jolly afternoon together. Shall I carry 
your suit-case for you? You’ll hardly want it in Bad¬ 
desley, so we may as well leave it at your hostel on our 
way.” 

Caught in the very act of kidnapping her niece, Miss 
Ingram could not refuse so civil an invitation, and so 
admirable an opportunity of discussing affairs, so she 
submitted, and was borne away by the triumphant 
guardian in the direction of the college. Peggie and 
Louise, immensely thrilled, returned to their hay-mak¬ 
ing, wondering how the tea-party at Baddesley Wells 
would go on, and who would eventually obtain posses¬ 
sion of Brenda, They questioned her eagerly about it 
next day. 

“I’d the time of my life!” she told them. “My 


The School Makes Hay 273 

guardian took us to that swell new restaurant and gave 
us a splendiferous tea. He’d never met auntie before, 
they’d only written quarrelsome letters to one another 
about me, but do you know I believe he’s absolutely 
fallen in love with her. She is pretty, isn’t she? He 
says Auntie’s to take me to Switzerland for August, and 
that he’ll want a holiday himself, and he’ll come and 
look us up. Isn’t it jolly? Instead of squabbling over 
me they were making friends as fast as they could. 
You like him? Yes, he’s really rather nice, and as for 
Auntie, every ono calls her perfectly fascinating. What 
a joke if they make it up, and I have to act gooseberry 
in Switzerland! One never knows!” 

With such an incipient romance dangling in the 
future under her very nose, Brenda settled down much 
more happily at school, especially as her friends called 
her a “lucker” for having two delightful foreign 
holidays in one year. The summer term suited her 
much better than the winter. She was not fond of 
organized games, and was glad when hockey season 
was off, and when cycle excursions might be substituted 
for cricket on Saturday afternoons. Peggie and Louise 
also signed their names on the list of those who wished 
to take bicycle rides, and were duly placed on certain 
Nature Rambles. 

On the first Saturday in July fourteen girls, under 
charge of Miss Towers, put packets of sandwiches and 
cake into their cycle baskets, wheeled their machines 
to the front gate of the college, and started off all to¬ 
gether in style. It was to be a whole day excursion, 
and they were to ride quite a long distance, with an old 


274 Captain Peggie 

castle as a definite object, and all kinds of bye-issues 
on the way. Each girl was provided with a small note¬ 
book, and meant to keep a record of interesting finds 
to be registered, on their return, in the Joint Nature 
Diary which was kept by the school. The weather, 
doubtful at first, fortunately cleared up, though a bank 
of black clouds behind them prophesied thunder at 
Somerton, to spoil cricket and tennis practice. They 
were riding out of the storm area and would probably 
escape rain altogether. 

“We shall crow if they don’t get any sets at all,” 
said Louise. “Violet called me a slacker for missing 
tennis, but I don’t care! I love all the queer beasties 
we find, and the flowers and ferns and things. Roy is 
fearfully keen on them too. They go out rambles at 
his school, and he’s made quite a good collection. We’re 
going to compare notes in the hols.” 

The wild roses were practically over, but there were 
flowering plants in the hedgerows, and they found 
many treasures as they rode along. Each girl was pro¬ 
vided with a whistle which she blew as a signal when 
she spied anything worthy of interest, then a halt was 
called and the records were taken. Some had brought 
butterfly nets, and caught a few azure blues and 
fritillaries and clouded yellows, also a tiger moth and 
some burnet moths; beside a stream were some ex¬ 
quisite dragon flies, some with intense blue-green opaque 
wings and bodies, and some with transparent wings 
and green bodies, but they were so rapid in their flight 
that it was impossible to obtain any specimens. Louise 
had a tremendous chase after a “painted lady”, a most 


The School Makes Hay 275 

tantalizing coquette which would flit near to her net, 
but dart away with the speed of an express train. 

On the banks of the river they came across a charm¬ 
ing scene, a swan, majestically sailing along with seven 
little cygnets perched on her back. She landed at a 
gravel bed, tilted the babies into shallow water and 
made them paddle ashore and poke about with their 
tiny beaks among the stones, then she once more 
launched herself on the river, and the cygnets, swim¬ 
ming after her, scrambled again on to her motherly 
back, hiding themselves in the shelter of her wings 
till only their little heads could be seen peeping out at 
the world. This, of course, was a splendid record for 
the school nature diary. They were fortunate enough 
to find another treasure equally interesting and even 
more unusual. At the edge of a wood, Miss Towers, 
who seemed to possess microscopic eyes, pounced upon 
a wolf-spider, popped it inside a glass-lidded specimen 
box, and examined it with her pocket lens. It was also 
very much a mother, for crowded on its back were an 
immense number of tiny young ones smaller than a pin’s 
head. As an experiment Miss Towers very gently and 
carefully detached some of them with the point of a 
hat-pin, and through the lens observed how they 
promptly climbed up their mother’s legs and placed 
themselves again upon her back. It was such a fascinat¬ 
ing peep into nature’s ways that they spent quite a long 
time repeating the experiment, and passing the speci- 
ment box and lens from girl to girl, but they finally 
replaced the family on the bank where they had been 
found, hoping mama-spider would rear her brood, and 


276 Captain Peggie 

not fall a victim to some voracious bird in quest of food 
for her offspring. 

It was really quite a wonderful day. Brenda blew 
her whistle for a clump of lovely butterfly orchis; 
Louise came upon a pale pink variety of the white 
evening campion, and Peggie had the immense distinc¬ 
tion of finding a piece of seven-leaved clover, which, 
if the four-leaved variety is so lucky, ought to guarantee 
good fortune in increased ratio. She put it to press at 
once, between the leaves of her notebook. 

The river seemed a good field of observation. While 
they sat eating their lunch they watched a kingfisher 
perching upon a twig just above the water and fishing 
diligently. Apparently he either did not notice the 
party or did not mind their presence, for he stayed 
at his post for at least twenty minutes, then suddenly 
darted away like a flash of emerald. A newt and some 
young frogs discovered by Peggie in the damp grass, 
swelled the list of finds, and to the botany sections 
they added flowering rush, nettle-leaved bell flower, 
and white rest-harrow. It was beautiful to ride along 
and see hedges festooned with the wild clematis, fields 
full of scarlet poppies, and road sides, untouched by 
the scythe, a mass of wild parsley, pimpernel and blue 
speedwell. They had been going slightly up hill for 
several miles, and now began to get the view over the 
valley through which they had come. Above them 
on the top of a slight eminence stood the castle which 
was the main object of the excursion. 

“Thank goodness we’re here at last!” said Brenda, 


The School Makes Hay 277 

whose bicycle was of a rather heavy make, ‘Tm just 
tired of climbing hills.” 

“We shall be able to sprint down them going back,” 
said Joyce, who was one of the party. 

“And have the wind to help us,” agreed Louise. 

The girls stacked their machines together inside the 
gate, while Miss Towers went to a farmhouse for the 
necessary permission to visit the castle, which was in 
part of its grounds, and also to ask if tea could be 
supplied later on. She came back with the good news 
that it would be ready in about half an hour, and would 
be served to them at a table in the garden. The keep 
was in tolerable preservation, but the rest of the old 
fortress was in ruins, and showed broken-down ivy- 
covered walls and heaps of stones overgrown with a 
tangle of brambles. There was a little winding stair¬ 
case that led up the tower on to a stretch of battlement, 
and from here there was a wonderful prospect over 
fields and green woods to actually a distant peep of 
the sea. 

“I wonder what it felt like to live here in the olden 
days?” said Peggie, leaning against the low wall of 
the battlement and gazing with far-away eyes at the 
horizon. “Girls must have come up here sometimes 
in the Middle Ages. What did they talk about and 
think about?” 

“Not cricket and tennis and exams, or even nature 
study!” said Louise. 

“I suppose they'd talk about their knights and 
squires and what feats they did in the last tournament,” 
ventured Joyce, “and when the next pedler would be 


278 Captain Peggie 

likely to come along and sell them fresh silks for their 
embroideries. ,, 

“It feels like a castle in a book. Have I read a 
description of it anywhere?” asked Peggie. “Oh, yes, 
now I know of course! It reminds me of that lovely 
part-song we learnt last term in the singing-class. 
Don't you remember ?” 

“I'm not in the singing-class!” 

“But you heard us sing it at the concert—‘My love 
dwelt in a northern land'.” 

“I didn’t notice the words. What are they ?” 

“Oh dear! I don’t know whether I can say them— 
I’m rather a duffer at reciting.” 

“Oh, go on! Don’t be affected! Make a try!” 

Thus urged, Peggie concentrated her thoughts, and 
with a little extra brain-effort remembered the song- 
ballad. 

MY LOVE DWELT IN A NORTHERN LAND 

My love dwelt in a Northern land, 

A dim tower in a forest green 
Was his, and far away the sand 
And grey wash of the waves were seen 
The woven forest boughs between: 

And through the northern summer night 
The sunset slowly, slowly died away, 

And herds of strange deer, silver white, 

Came gleaming through the forest gray. 

And fled like ghosts before the day. 

And oft, that month, we watched the moon 
Wax great and white o’er wood and lawn, 

And wane, with waning of the June, 

She fell, she fell, and flamed in a wild dawn. 


The School Makes Hay 279 

I know not if the forest green 
Still girdles round that castle grey, 

I know not if the boughs between 
The white deer vanish ere the day: 

The grass above my love is green, 

His heart is colder than the clay. 

Some of the girls liked it, but some thought it too 
melancholy, though all agreed that it seemed to describe 
the castle very well. 

“It’s mystic, really!” said Miss Towers. “The 
'strange deer, silver white’, that ‘fled like ghosts before 
the day’ were omens. Haven’t you read Wordsworth’s 
‘White Doe of Rylstone’ that always appeared as a 
warning of the death of the head of the family? It’s 
a very ancient North country superstition. Creepy? 
Well, I daresay. People believed strongly in the super¬ 
natural in those days. It was interwoven with all the 
romances. Take one more look across the woods, and 
then we must climb down again. Tea will be ready, 
and I don’t want us to be late in starting to ride back.” 

There was nothing supernatural about bread and 
butter and honey and home-made cake, which was the 
fare spread before our party at the table in the farm 
garden. They enjoyed it in twentieth century fashion, 
then mounted their machines, and set forth on their 
return journey. It was down hill this way and they 
free-wheeled joyously along with the wind at their 
backs. Some of them were in advance of the others, 
who had stopped to pick more specimens, and they dis¬ 
mounted by a little bridge and waited for the rest to 
follow on. Presently the rear-guard appeared, and be- 


28 o 


Captain Peggie 

gan to coast down the hill at considerable speed. Then 
just how it happened no one knew, but somehow or 
other Joyce lost control of her machine, and came 
dashing along at a simply break-neck pace. She was 
quite unable to turn the sharp corner at the bottom 
of the hill, and shrieked with fright as she headed 
straight for the river. Louise, who was standing near 
the bridge, dashed into the road, gripped Joyce as she 
passed, and whipped her out of the saddle. Both the 
girls fell, and the machine capsized a few feet away, 
but by Louise’s plucky presence of mind a bad accident 
was averted. Beyond a few bruises neither was hurt, 
and the injuries to the bicycle were not enough to hinder 
Joyce from riding home upon it. She was frightened 
and rather shaken—that was all. There was a sequel 
however to the affair that night. She sought Louise 
in private and began to thank her. 

“You saved my life,” she said. 

“No heroics, please! I’ve told you that already. I 
don’t want to make such a fuss about it.” 

“But, Lu, it’s true, and look here, I must tell you 
something. It’s been on my mind for ages. You 
remember the first term you were at Bronte, and how 
you were brought up before the School Parliament for 
tying a piece of string across the passage?” 

“Yes!” (Louise was listening now.) 

“Well, it was I who did it. I saw you tie your booby- 
trap, and heard Helen scold you, and I went and set 
another just to rag her. Then when there was such an 
awful shindy about it all I was too big a coward to con¬ 
fess. Shall I tell Barbara?” 


<r 


The School Makes Hay 281 

“Never mind about it now; it’s so long ago every¬ 
body has forgotten the whole affair.” 

‘Tm fearfully ashamed of myself,” whimpered Joyce. 
“I know I was a sneak.” 

“It was half my fault for doing it first.” 

“We’ve stopped those rags at Bronte.” 

“Yes, and a good thing too!” 

“Oh, you are a sport to let it slide.” 

“What’s the use of raking up old things that hap¬ 
pened a century agol I feel as if the world’s moved 
on since then.” 

“I think,” said Joyce slowly, “that we’ve all moved 
on somehow at Bronte. I don’t know what it is, but 
there’s a difference.” 

“I don’t think about it at all—I know!” answered 
Louise. “If you really want to ask the reason, it’s— 
just Peggie.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


Cycles and Flowers 

“I say, girls,” cried Peggie one afternoon, running 
down the steps to Bronte garden, where a tennis set 
had just come to an end. “What do you think is the 
very latest? Barbara’s just told me. There’s to be a 
great carnival at Baddesley in aid of the hospital. 
They’re to have a procession all round the town, and 
Miss Penrose says any of us who like may join the 
decorated cycle parade. She’s arranging a contingent 
of us to represent the college.” 

“Oh good! Put me down for one!” said Helen. 
“I suppose it’s fancy costume? What sport! We’ll 
think out some killing things, rather!” 

“Connie and I meant to be Anthony and Cleopatra 
at the next ‘Fancy’,” said Dorothy. “And here the poor 
old girl’s bed-ridden in the san. with a temperature. 
Hard luck, isn’t it?” 

“I had a temperature last holidays,” said Kathleen 
plaintively. “They had to fetch the doctor for me in 
the middle of the night, I was so hot. He said I’d 
eaten too many chocolates.” 

“You pig!” was all the sympathy she got from 
Dorothy. “Poor old Connie’s not ill with your com¬ 
plaint. Now then, just let my racket alone, please! 

282 


Cycles and Flowers 283 

It’s not dunce proof. Use your own, if you must rag. 
No thanks! I don't want you for my Cleopatra! If 
I can’t have Connie, I won’t be Anthony at all!” 

The Baddesley Carnival was to be an important 
affair conducted on a large scale, with entries for 
decorated cars, motor-cycles, bicycles, tableaux on 
lorries, tradesmen’s exhibits, parade of horses, and an 
“on foot” section. About fifty girls from Somerton 
formed themselves into a Fancy Brigade, and set to 
work to contrive wonderful costumes and decorations 
for the credit of the college. Peggie, Louise, Helen, 
Dorothy, Joyce, and Kathleen were those chosen to 
represent Bronte. Each of the Senior and Middle 
School houses was sending seven or eight members, 
but the Preparatory houses were not allowed to take 
part, as Miss Penrose was afraid that the long pro¬ 
cession round the town would be too trying for younger 
girls. 

“You will have to wheel your bicycles the whole 
way, and it will mean a walk of many miles,” she ex¬ 
plained. 

It was of course considered a great honor to be in¬ 
cluded in the Somerton Brigade, but those girls who 
did not possess bicycles, or were otherwise disqualified, 
consoled themselves by the thought that “lookers-on 
see most of the game”, and that as spectators of the 
carnival they would have a far better view of the pro¬ 
cession than if they formed a part of it. All the school 
was to go and watch, not in one united “crocodile” for 
that would be impossible, but in small parties in charge 
of teachers. Each group was to take a different stand, 


284 


Captain Peggie 

so that they could spread their numbers over the town 
and run as good a chance as most people of obtaining 
an unimpeded view. 

A dozen girls from Bronte, attached to Miss Shep¬ 
pard’s apron string, started forth on a certain July 
Saturday afternoon to see the fun. The stand they 
had selected was one of the public parks in Baddesley. 
They arrived early and took up places along the railings, 
which being slightly raised above the level of the pave¬ 
ment below would allow them to see over the heads of 
the crowd. They had a tremendously long time to 
wait. It was hot, and rather windy and very dusty, 
with pieces of paper blowing about the streets. There 
were many other spectators besides themselves in the 
park; children scrambled about and shouted; sweet¬ 
hearts sat on the grass; provident elderly people had 
brought campstools, and as time crept on more and 
more sightseers arrived, till those who lined the rail¬ 
ings had to keep their places carefully, to avoid being 
jostled away from the front. 

At last in the distance came the sound of a band 
and every head was turned in the direction of the music. 

“Here they come! Look! They’re coming!” was on 
all lips. 

The crowd in the street below swayed with excite¬ 
ment. The great procession was actually filing slowly 
into view. First came mounted constables, then the 
band, playing popular airs, and escorted by a number 
of rough-riders, including cowboys, North American 
Indians, and a highwayman with a black mask and 
pistols. The Mayor and Mayoress followed in a car, 


28s 


Cycles and Flowers 

and after them came a succession of private cars, and 
motor-cycles with side-cars, all beautifully decorated 
with flowers and flags, and their owners in fancy 
costumes. Several cycle clubs came next, and fourth 
among them was the school contingent. Our party at 
the railings clapped and cheered as the banner bearing 
the device “Somerton Ladies’ College” hove into view, 
and their enthusiasm was shared by the crowd, for the 
girls had made great efforts and had produced a really 
noble show. Peggie’s bicycle represented “Diamond 
Dyes”; the wheels were covered with sections of 
colored paper, and she wore a skirt of red, blue, green, 
and yellow, with a little black velvet coat and a jaunty 
cap, a most becoming costume. Louise was a May 
Queen, all flowers and ribbons, with a tiny toy maypole 
fastened to her machine. Dorothy had tied balloons to 
her handle-bars, and they floated bravely in the wind. 
Kathleen had blazoned the school arms upon a large 
shield, which she held in Crusader fashion. Joyce was 
a Japanese lady with a huge paper parasol, and Helen 
a hospital nurse, holding aloft an enormous imitation 
medicine bottle. Girls from other houses had equally 
distinguished themselves, and the college certainly 
deserved the applause it received for its efforts. 

Next in order came a whole club dressed as the Ku 
Klux Klan, in white garments and white hoods cover¬ 
ing their faces, with eye-holes to peep through, a rather 
terrifying crew, who looked like a set of resurrected 
corpses, and caused squeals and shudders among the 
spectators. A section of “Old Time Cyclists” wheeled 
out-of-date specimens of “bone shakers” and of the 


286 


Captain Peggie 

tall bicycles of the seventies, lent for the occasion from 
local museums or private collections. After these 
marched Sunday schools, each with its own banner and 
with the scholars decked out to demonstrate some 
special design. Very pretty were the “Daffodil 
Children’', wearing pale yellow and Tiolding flower-clad 
staffs, and the “Poppy” children, with the girls in 
scarlet and the boys in green, while a group of fairies 
and elves boasted a first prize. 

When the little ones had passed, and another band 
had discoursed music, arrived the principal attraction 
of the procession, a series of lorries upon each of which 
was arranged a tableau. These had been fitted up with 
great trouble and ingenuity. First came an excellent 
model of the hospital buildings in painted canvas, then 
a scene from a ward, with a patient in bed, attended by 
a bevy of nurses. The “Ancient Order of Druids” 
had tied up oak branches, beneath the shade of which 
sat the venerable dispensers of wisdom, holding gilt 
sickles in their hands. Santa Claus, with Christmas 
tree and sack of toys all complete, caused excitement 
among the juveniles, as did a “Family Lorry” full of 
babies, big dolls, and Teddy-bears. 

There was a picnic tableau, with a party sitting on 
haycocks drinking tea, a Maypole with little girls hold¬ 
ing ribbons, a group of cricketers, a tennis scene, with 
net, and young men in flannels. Very slowly they 
promenaded by, to avoid undue shaking, for it would 
have been difficult to hold Maypole ribbons or teacups 
or tennis-rackets had the sturdy dray-horses increased 
the pace. 


287 


Cycles and Flowers 

Of course the Fire Brigade, gorgeous in brass 
helmets, attracted much attention, also the tradesmen’s 
decorated vans, many of which were most ingenious and 
tasteful. 

Perhaps what our schoolgirl party liked almost the 
best were the horses. In these days of motoring it is 
rare, except on military occasions, to see a collection of 
horsemen, yet no automobiles could compare with the 
sleek satin coats and the tossing bridles and trampling 
hoofs of the part of the procession which followed. 
Many of the riders were in fancy dress, and won much 
applause, from Charles I and his Queen, in lace and 
velvet, to a dear little May Queen on a tiny Shetland 
pony. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to 
Animals had organized a donkey parade, with special 
prizes for the best cared for, and the ‘‘Neddies” ambled 
along, many of them with small children mounted on 
their backs bearing banners of the League of Kindness. 

There were hundreds of collectors in fancy dress, 
who ran along the road, rattling their tins under the 
noses of spectators and begging for contributions 
towards the hospital funds. Some of them, dressed 
as clowns or jesters, performed amusing antics and 
kept everybody laughing and good tempered, in spite 
of the dust and the heat and the general crush. Foot- 
passengers in all varieties of costume, more bands, Boy 
Scouts, Girl Guides, Lads’ Brigades, Temperance Soci¬ 
eties, Provident Associations, City officials, and more 
police—there seemed no end to the long procession 
which took quite an enormous time to pass by. It was 
gone at last however, and our little party at the rail- 


288 


Captain Peggie 

mgs, having popped their last remaining pennies into 
the collecting-boxes, turned their steps back to school, 
where much later on they were joined by the Somerton 
contingent of cyclists, very tired after the five mile 
tramp in the procession, but elated to have ‘‘done their 
bit” towards swelling the funds of the hospital. 

“We didn’t get any prizes, which was too bad!” 
said Peggie. “Most of them went to the men, because 
they can get up much more daring things than we can. 
Did you see the bicycle all covered with cardboard to 
look like a horse, and the jockey riding it? He won 
a prize! And so did the mermaid. I don’t think Miss 
Penrose would have let me be a mermaid, even if I’d 
happened to think of it. It was a little bit broad, with 
a bottle in his hand, wasn’t it ? But it was funny. He 
looked such a Crazy Jane of a mermaid, with his sea¬ 
weed hair. Yes, I’ve enjoyed it. But I’m weary be¬ 
yond words. Wheeling your bike at a snail’s pace is 
more tiring than riding forty miles. I wish I could stay 
in bed to-morrow, but I know I can’t.” 

One of the great events of the summer term at the 
college was the flower-show. It was conducted on 
quite orthodox lines. Each girl who wished to compete 
entered her exhibits in the various classes and paid a 
small fee for the privilege, the proceeds being devoted 
to foreign missions. As the prizes were given by 
teachers and friends there were no expenses in con¬ 
nection with it, and the whole of the entry fees and 
the entrance money were sent away to the missionaries 
as a contribution from the school. All the pupils at 
Somerton were not ardent horticulturists, but those 


Cycles and Flowers 


289 


who had no gardens of their own were expected to 
turn up at the show and pay their entrance money for 
the good of the cause, and some of the best flowers 
were sold to any visitors who cared to buy them. 

Great were the excitements in preparing for the 
event, and many were the disappointments. A thunder 
shower could work havoc, slugs and snails were hated 
enemies; protection was needed from cats and sparrows, 
and rabbits and moles occasionally burrowed in from 
the common and destroyed choice plants. Louise, who 
was cherishing some annuals, fixed her umbrella to 
shelter them, and was much concerned when it blew 
away in the night, and Peggie diligently put cardboard 
rings round her carnations to prevent them bursting 
their buds too soon. 

There was a spell of dry weather, so watering be¬ 
came an anxiety; the girls saved the contents of their 
baths, and doled them out to particular treasures. They 
weeded, and hoed, and staked, and set earwig-traps, and 
slew woodlice, and did all in their power to give their 
specimens the best possible conditions of growth. Very 
much to their annoyance, only a few days before the 
show, some unknown malefactor visited the little allot¬ 
ments during the night and worked a considerable 
amount of damage. Whether cat, rabbit, or what, it 
had injured blossoms, scratched up roots, and spoilt 
some of the best annuals. 

“The wretch!” cried Louise half in tears. “Just let 
me catch him, and 'Pd string him up if it were Tabby- 
skins himself. My beautiful Nemophila! I always 
heard cats like to roll in it.” 


290 


Captain Peggie 

“I mean to stay out and watch when it’s growing 
dark to-night,” said Peggie, “and if it is Tabbyskins, 
PH-” 

“You’ll what?” 

“Throw a canful of water over him, I think!” 

“I’ll stop with you then, and have the can handy. 
It would scare him away at any rate.” 

Feeling as if they were on the look-out for a ma¬ 
rauding tiger, the two girls took up sentry duty after 
sunset, armed with a syringe which they had borrowed 
from the gardener. 

“I’m not sure that it mightn’t be some of those 
Gaskellites playing a mean trick on us,” ventured 
Louise grimly. “Just let them try! I’m ready for 
them.” 

“But we didn’t find any footprints!” 

“Oh, they’re clever enough to hide them!” 

It was really getting quite dark. In another few 
minutes the bell would ring calling in all stragglers 
from the garden. As the girls stared through the dusk, 
Louise, whose sharp eyes had been trained on the Afri¬ 
can veld, saw a faint agitation among a bed of poppies, 
and some moving object passing stealthily along. With 
equal guile she crept up, made a dash and a grab, and 
caught—a fine young hedgehog who was about to 
browse among Peggie’s carnations. She was delighted 
to have captured the little fellow, partly for the sake 
of the garden, and partly because she had never seen 
a hedgehog before, and hoped to keep him for a pet. 
She carried him indoors to show to an admiring circle, 
and tucked him up in a wooden box with some straw, 



291 


Cycles and Flowers 

gave him some bread and milk for refreshment, and 
put a heavy weight on the lid of the box, leaving a 
chink for ventilation. But he was stronger and craftier 
than they imagined, and in spite of these excellent pre¬ 
cautions he succeeded in breaking his prison during the 
night and making his escape. 

“What an adventure he'll have to tell his friend!" 
said Louise. “Well, never mind! It’s the Show to-day, 
so he can’t do any more damage. I’m going to abandon 
my plot afterwards; I’m tired of hauling jugs of water 
and squashing snails. The plants will have to take 
their chance.’’ 

All entries had to be delivered in the big hall by one 
o’clock, so about half-past twelve, numbers of com¬ 
petitors, excused from cricket for the purpose, came 
carrying pots of fuchias and fancy pelargoniums or 
specimens of flowers. These were placed in their 
different classes upon long tables, in preparation for 
the judging, which was to take place at half-past two. 
In order to avoid any shadow of favoritism, Miss Pen¬ 
rose had arranged for that role to* be filled by a gentle¬ 
man from a distance, who was connected with a horti¬ 
cultural college, and who knew the prize points of the 
various entries, though he did not know any of the 
girls in the school. For half an hour he shut himself 
up with the flowers, putting the envied little cards, with 
first, second, or third prize, to the specimens he con¬ 
sidered best. At three o’clock the show was open to 
the general public. 

Peggie and Louise paid their sixpences at the door 
and walked in with many thrills. There was a whole 


292 


Captain Peggie 

table full of Pelargoniums, and first prize had gone to 
Austen, but, oh joy! Bronte had won a second and 
Joyce might be congratulated for it. Pansies, neatly 
exhibited on sheets of white paper, were plentiful this 
year, but the biggest and darkest of all was Peggie's, 
while Louise had won a “first” for her annuals. It 
was a great triumph for Louise, as she had not before 
contributed any distinction to Bronte. 

“I shall have that card framed and glazed and hang 
it up in my cubicle,” she declared. “I don’t mind about 
the actual prize itself—it's a little purse, and I have 
three already—but it's the honor of winning. Peggie, 
do you realize I’ve won a distinction? You’re always 
rubbing Bronte into me, so you ought to be pleased. 
It will be put down in the hostel record-book: July 
16 th, First Prize Annuals at Flower-show— 

Louise Roper. 

And anybody looking at the book ten years hence will 
find my name. Think - of that! I didn’t know I was go¬ 
ing down to posterity! Aren’t you proud of your 
cousin? Why don’t you help me to crow?” 

“You absurd child!” laughed Peggie. “No one 
might ever have won a prize before. But if you’re so 
keen on getting distinctions go on and see what you 
can do for Bronte next term. I shall be in Austen by 
then, so I leave the field to you.” 

“It’s worth thinking about!” said Louise. “If I once 
take an idea into my head I often do it. Suppose I try 
very hard and win heaps of distinctions, could I ever 
become captain?” 


Cycles and Flowers 


293 


“Ah, that’s another matter entirely. Miss Croft and 
Miss Penrose choose the captain, and it needs other 
qualifications besides distinctions.” 

“What sort of things? There, you needn’t tell me, 
it’s straightness and squareness and a kind of general 
all round niceness. You were the very one for it. Pegs! 
We’ll miss you when you go on to Austen. I shouldn’t 
think there’s ever been a captain as good as you before.” 

“// What nonsense! Why, I’ve done hardly any¬ 
thing at all for the house!” said Peggie, as she walked 
away. 


CHAPTER XXII 


Peggie s big Score 

It was getting quite towards the end of the term. 
In another ten days Somerton would break up, and 
motor-buses would carry girls and luggage to the 
station again. Peggie, standing in her captain’s bed¬ 
room, and looking round the walls at the mottoes she 
had hung up there last autumn, was reviewing the 
events of the school year. On a card, in a conspicuous 
place on the mantlepiece, was a list of the distinctions 
gained by Bronte. Peggie had just finished printing 
it. She was going to carry it downstairs and pin it up 
on the notice-board in the hall. 

DISTINCTIONS RECORD 


December 14 

Christmas Play Maggie Fowler 

February 23 

Hockey Dorothy Carter 

March 28 

Art Study Sheet Helen Armstrong 

July 15th 

Flower-show: 

First Prize, Pansies Peggie Paget 

First Prize, Annuals Louise Roper 

Second Prize, Pelargoniums Joyce Blackwood 
294 


Peggie’s big Score 


295 


Peggie screwed up her face critically as she looked 
at it. After all it did not seem very much to boast 
about. It was better than last year, certainly, but 
nothing, oh! nothing to what she had hoped. 

‘‘I meant to do three big things,” she said to her¬ 
self, "‘something athletic, something clever, and some¬ 
thing heroic. Oh dear! I haven’t done any of them! 
First prize for pansies isn’t a proud honor to offer to 
your house. I’m almost ashamed to put it down. If 
Annie Hall had stayed and been captain instead of me! 
She was a blazing girl. She’d have carried all the 
school before her, and made Bronte’s name shine. I’m 
afraid I’m rather a failure. I don’t seem to have 
managed anything particular, except to just muddle 
along. I suppose I’m an ordinary, commonplace girl, 
and not a genius. That’s the truth of it!” 

Commonplace! It is rather humiliating to put one¬ 
self down under that heading. Peggie sighed, shrugged 
her shoulders, and then suddenly remembered a quota¬ 
tion in the birthday book which her mother had given 
her at Christmas. It had struck her fancy before. She 
took down the book and turned over the pages. Here 
it was, for 28th February: 

“A commonplace life we say, and we sigh, 

But why should we sigh as we say? 

The commonplace sun in the commonplace sky, 

Makes up a commonplace day. 

The moon and the stars are commonplace things, 

And the flower that blooms, and the bird that sings; 


296 


Captain Peggie 

But dark were the world, and sad our lot, 

If the flower failed and the sun shone not; 

And God, who studies each separate soul, 

Out of commonplace lives makes His beautiful whole.** 

“'Well! We can’t all be geniuses!” reflected Peggie. 
“Some of us have to be very ‘wee, modest, crimson- 
tippit flow’rs’. Why didn’t fate give me ‘curly brains’ ? 
Oh bother! I’ve done what I could for Bronte, and 
there’s an end of it. If you’re not clever you’re not— 
and you can’t help it.” 

Peggie walked downstairs, pinned her card on the 
notice-board, and strolled into the garden. Some of 
the younger girls were standing near the steps, and 
when they saw her they scuttled away quickly. They 
were hinneying in a rather nasty manner, and Kathleen, 
who had formed one of the group, dashed from them, 
and passing Peggie, ran into the house. The girl was 
palpably crying, though she turned her head to hide 
her tears. 

“What’s the matter with Kathleen?” Peggie asked 
Louise, who was seated on the steps. 

“Oh it’s only Joan and Betty and Lena and that 
crew! They’re ragging her because her mother is go¬ 
ing to stay at the Falcon Hotel. It’s perfectly ridic¬ 
ulous.” 

“And why shouldn’t her mother stay at the Falcon 
Hotel, I should like to know ?” 

“Because they say it’s not as good a hotel as the 
‘Royal’. They told her all the girls’ parents always 
stayed at the ‘Royal’. It’s the ‘thing to do’, they said.” 


297 


Peggie’s big Score 

“The disgusting little snobs!” snapped Peggie. 
“How perfectly horrid of them! Those aren’t Somerton 
standards!” 

“A lot of them think the same,” said Louise. “They 
asked me if Dad and Mums were coming to the Pupils’ 
Concert, and where they would stay in Baddesley. I 
said they were in Scotland, so that settled them. But 
they look down on anyone whose people only stay at 
the ‘Falcon’ instead of the ‘Royal’. I can’t see that it 
matters myself!” 

“It doesn't matter J” exploded Peggie. I’m disgusted 
with them for thinking so. I’ve a good mind to tell 
them my opinion of them. But no! They’d probably 
only snigger. I’ve a much better idea than that. Oh, 
quite a glorious brain-wave. If I can manage to wangle 
it, it will be fine. I’ll teach them that other people 
haven’t such silly notions. Then perhaps they’ll be 
ashamed of themselves.” 

Peggie’s idea was this. She had that morning re¬ 
ceived a letter from her godmother, Miss Edith Spencer, 
a gifted public singer who had already made a reputa¬ 
tion for herself in the musical world. She told her 
godchild that she was coming on Saturday to Baddesley, 
to fulfill an engagement at a concert at the Wells. “I’m 
tired, and need a rest, so I shall stay for the week end 
in Baddesley,” she wrote. “Can your house mistress 
recommend me a quiet hotel ? And will she allow you 
and six of your schoolfellows to come to tea on Sun¬ 
day? I promise to sing to you afterwards.” To send 
Miss Spencer to the comfortable but despised Falcon 
Hotel, and to take some of the Bronte girls to tea there, 


298 Captain Peggie 

would surely be an excellent way of overcoming 1 this 
foolish prejudice. Miss Croft had already given per¬ 
mission for the jaunt, and had told her she might de¬ 
pend upon the lucky six receiving exeats. 

“I shall ask Louise, Connie, Dorothy, Kathleen, Joan, 
and Betty,” resolved Peggie. “J oan an d Betty don’t 
deserve it, but I believe it’s the only thing to cure them. 
It’s just ignorance on their part.” 

The concert at which Miss Spencer was to sing was 
to be a very special one, with many high class artistes, 
and Miss Penrose, always anxious for the musical edu¬ 
cation of the school, decided at the eleventh hour to 
telephone for tickets, and to take about sixty- of the 
girls. They came back in raptures. There had been 
a famous violinist, and an excellent pianist, and some 
orchestral pieces, but most of all they enjoyed the 
singer. 

“Her top notes were exquisite. Didn’t you love 
‘Solvieg’s Song’? and that little encore?” said Barbara. 
“I’d give the world to hear her again!” 

“We’re going to tea with her to-morrow,” boasted 
Betty. “She promised to sing to us.” 

“You! Well, you are a lucker! How have you 
managed that?” 

“She’s Peggie’s godmother, and she has invited us.” 

“Well, I only wish she had invited me , that’s all I 
It would be heavenly to sit in a quiet room and listen 
to her.” 

On Sunday afternoon, in their cool tussore silk 
dresses, with best brown-banded school hats, seven 
excited girls set out for Baddesley, under the escort 


299 


Peggie’s big Score 

of Miss Croft, who was going to visit her sister, and 
would leave them at the ‘‘Falcon” and call for them 
again at 5:30. The little hotel, if smaller and less pre¬ 
tentious than the “Royal” was very comfortable and 
had a sweet, flowery garden. Miss Spencer received 
her guests on the lawn and took them to a creeper- 
covered veranda, where tea for eight was laid. When 
you are a schoolgirl, with a sweet tooth for sugary 
cakes, it is a great event in the term to be invited forth 
for tea, and to have shrimp paste sandwiches, and 
scones and honey, and cream puffs, and macaroons, 
and almond nuts, and spongecake with lemon cheese 
inside, and strawberry ices. Miss Spencer was a 
delightful hostess, she talked about great musicians 
whom she had met, and told them tales about her stu¬ 
dent days, and the various adventures she had had in 
travelling to sing at concerts. 

“Once I was going to Petersham and the line was 
flooded and the train had to stop. I managed to walk 
two miles to the nearest town and hire a car to take 
me on, and I arrived just in time to dress for my con¬ 
cert. And another journey my lugagge was lost, and 
a friend had to lend me a dress to sing in. Fortunately 
it fitted me, and was a very pretty one. There are all 
sorts of humorous things in a professional life. They 
don’t seem funny at the moment, but one laughs at 
them afterwards. At one concert a celebrated tenor 
had forgotten to bring his songs. He could sing them 
all right without music, but how was the accompanist 
to manage? Somebody dashed out into the town, and 
luckily was able to buy copies; he returned with them 


300 


Captain Peggie 

only five minutes before the tenor was due to walk 
on to the platform. And again another time a violinist 
got cramp in his arm, and we had to set to work and 
massage him before he was fit to play. The audience 
little knows all the agonies of the green room. Would 
you like to go into the house now and I'll sing to you ?” 

The drawing-room was almost deserted, so the girls 
had it practically to themselves. They found comfort¬ 
able arm-chairs and prepared thoroughly to enjoy a 
half-hour’s treat. Miss Spencer had sung well at the 
concert the night before, but to this small and highly 
sympathetic audience she sang better than ever. She 
was good natured, and gave them song after song till 
Miss Croft called to take them away, and even then 
she added an encore for the special benefit of the house 
mistress. 

“Oh, it was lovely! I’ve never enjoyed myself so 
much in my life—anywhere,” said Betty, on the way 
back to school. “What a dear little hotel! It’s far 
more comfy than the ‘Royal’, really. I believe Mother 
would like it next time she comes to Baddesley.” 

“I was just thinking the same,” said Joan. “I shall 
tell my people about it when I go home.” 

“My mother is coming there on Thursday!” remarked 
Kathleen. 

“So you said. I think she’s lucky to get rooms.” 

Peggie, who overheard the conversation, smiled to 
herself. Betty and Joan had entirely altered their 
views, and seemed now to be approving of the 
maligned “Falcon” instead of teasing Kathleen about 
it. 


30i 


Peggie’s big Score 

“They deserved their heads bumped together, in¬ 
stead of having a treat,” she thought, “but it would only 
have made them more stupid about saying everyone 
ought to stop at the ‘Royal’. Now they know!” 

So the sun had conquered again where the wind 
would have failed', as wise yEsop wrote in his fable 
more than two thousand years ago, and the little ugly 
piece of snobbishness which had cropped up in Bronte 
had happily vanished. 

Life at the college during the final week of term was 
described by the girls as “hectic”. There were so 
many last things to be done. The exams were not over 
until the Wednesday, then there was a tennis tourna¬ 
ment, and an Art Exhibition and Pupils’ Concert to 
which parents were invited. Everyone had to begin 
to collect her personal possessions, as these must be 
taken home for the holidays. Many of the girls would 
be transferred to other houses next September, and 
might leave nothing behind in their old hostels. 

The very last Saturday of all was an exciting day for 
Bronte. During the summer term it was an established 
custom for each house to make a char-a-banc excursion 
to some famous beauty spot. Now Austen, Mitford, 
Eliot, Gaskell, Cavell, Nightingale, Alcott, and Green¬ 
away had all accomplished their motor picnics, but 
Bronte, owing to a misunderstanding with the owner 
of the garage, had missed its turn in June, and could 
not secure another date until now. It was better late 
than never, however, the whole hostel was keen to go 
and glad to clutch at this opportunity, so finals at tennis 
were thrown over, and the char-a-banc was engaged 


302 


Captain Peggie 

to drive them to Refton Caves. On the day before 
the expedition Peggie was talking to Hilda Rowe, a 
girl who was in the same form as herself. Hilda was 
a member of Nightingale, but she and Peggie were 
very friendly in school, and they were both entered at 
Austen for next term, and had already put down their 
names for cubicles in the same dormitory there. 

“You are a lucky thing to be going to Refton/' said 
Hilda. “I've wanted to see those stalactite caves all 
my life. I tried to get Nightingale to vote for Refton, 
but they went to Lansdown Lake instead, and I was 
in the sanatorium with a sore throat, so I lost our jaunt 
altogether." 

“What a shame! And I know Refton so well. I’ve 
been there four times, and I'm really almost tired of 
looking round the caves." 

“Wish you could swop with me, then!" 

“Why, I might! I don’t care much about going. 
I'd just as soon stay behind and play in the finals. 
Suppose I could fix it with Miss Croft, would Miss 
Cyark give you an exeat?" 

“Yes, I'm almost sure I could arrange it! Oh, what 
a trump you are! Think of seeing the caves after all! 
Are you certain you don’t mind?" 

“Not a scrap! I'll speak to Miss Croft about it after 
dinner." 

The house mistresses of Bronte and Nightingale 
made no objection to the exchange, so on Saturday, 
Hilda, all smiles, came to take her place in the motor 
excursion. The big gray char-a-banc was drawn up on 
the steep road outside the college gates, and the girls, 


303 


Peggie’s big Score 

with their picnic baskets, climbed into it and took their 
places. Peggie stood by the road side ready to wave 
her handkerchief as a final salute. Miss Croft and 
Miss Sheppard had settled into seats at the back with 
Helen, Connie, and Enid next to them, Betty and Lena 
were in front, and the rest came in between in rows 
of five or six. Everybody was smiling and radiant, 
and thoroughly prepared for an enjoyable jaunt. The 
driver threw away the fag-end of a cigarette, walked 
round to the front of his car, and started the engine. 
Then suddenly a most awful thing happened. Shaken 
perhaps by the vibration of the engine, or accidentally 
touched by one of the lively passengers, the brake 
slipped, and the great char-a-banc began to move 
forward down the slope. It jumped forward, knocked 
the driver flat on his back, and passing over him, 
commenced to lumber unguided down the road. Shrieks 
of horror rose from the passengers, for they were at 
the top of a hill, and with the impetus which the car 
would soon attain on its downward course they seemed 
likely to be launched into eternity. Could anything 
save them? Or were they doomed to rattle along at 
an increased pace until they crashed into the wall at 
the corner? 

Now Peggie had been standing a short distance in 
front, to wave good-bye. She witnessed the disaster, 
and as the char-a-banc came lumbering up, she made 
a rush and a dash at it, and somehow—she never knew 
quite how—managed to catch on and to scramble up 
the steps. She pushed frantically past Betty and Lena, 
reached the driver’s seat, closed the throttle, shut off 


3°4 Captain Peggie 

the petrol and put on both the foot- and hand-brakes. 
The big motor slid on for a few yards, then came to a 
standstill. The girls climbed out at once, and stood 
in the road as those who had escaped a catastrophe. 
The driver had been thrown on the ground, but the 
body of the car had passed clear over him without 
injury. He picked himself up and came running after 
the char-a-banc. His face was white as chalk and his 
voice shook as he gasped: 

“It might have been an awful accident. I’ve been 
driving for five years, and I’ve never seen that happen 
before. It was a mercy, Missie, you stopped her!” 

The picnic party was terribly upset. At first no¬ 
body wanted to continue the jaunt, but when the driver 
had been taken into the college and refreshed with hot 
coffee, and the brake thoroughly tested, Miss Croft 
decided that it would be a pity to forego the excursion. 

“Such a thing is not likely to happen again. The 
driver says one of you must have inadvertently re¬ 
leased the foot-brake,” she told the alarmed girls. 
“This man has taken us out before, and I’m sure we 
can rely upon him that the brake is in perfect order.” 

“We might have been in the hospital or the cemetery 
but for Peggie,” said Dorothy. 

“How did you manage it, Peggie?” asked the girls, 
who were ready to idolize their captain for her prompt 
deed. 

“I don’t know! I saw the car coming and made a 
plunge. I knew which was the brake, because I’ve sat 
next to the driver on char-a-bancs before, and I’ve 
watched them put it on. I learnt to drive a little my- 


Peggie’s big Score 305 

self last summer, too, when I was staying with an 
uncle. I like to know about brakes and things." 

“It’s a useful piece of knowledge that has saved a 
serious accident to-day/' said Miss Croft gravely. 

Half an hour late the char-a-banc started off for 
Refton, and Peggie, who stood waving her handker¬ 
chief, turned and went back into the college, not to 
play tennis, but to go to Nurse at the sanatorium to 
ask for cold cream, for she had scraped her shins 
badly in clambering up the steps of the car, and they 
were beginning to feel painful. The news of what she 
had been able to do soon spread over the school, and 
somewhat to her embarrassment she found herself 
quite a heroine. There were no special “distinctions" 
for “presence of mind", but everybody felt that Bronte 
had scored, and made a record in the annals of Somer- 
ton. 

On the last evening of the term Miss Croft called 
Peggie into her study. 

“I want to give you this/' she said, handing her a 
green suede-covered volume of Helpful Thoughts from 
Great Minds. “I think you’ll like the quotations in it. 
Will you keep it in remembrance of a most successful 
year as Captain of Bronte? I congratulate you, 
Peggie." 

“Oh, Miss Croft, I’ve done nothing for Bronte! 
Nothing except stop the char-a-banc, and anybody with 
an ounce of sense, standing where I was, would have 
done the same! It’s the others who’ve won all the dis¬ 
tinctions !’’ 

Miss Croft smiled quietly. 


3°6 Captain Peggie 

“I know who’s been at the back of it all. It’s some¬ 
times more useful to spur other people on to do things 
than to do them yourself. That’s the triumph of a 
good leader. It has helped Bronte much more to raise 
the tone of the house than to win goals at hockey or 
to get the prize at the tennis tournament. I know 
most things that happen in this hostel, and I can see 
the difference since you’ve been captain here. It was 
what I asked you to do, last September, and you’ve 
done It.” 

As Peggie came downstairs after the interview in the 
study, the girls were waiting for her, and called her 
into the sitting-room. Something important was evi¬ 
dently going to happen. Helen acted as spokes-woman. 

“We’ve all of us subscribed to give you this, Peggie. 
It’s a souvenir of having stopped the char-a-banc. 
Please accept it from the house.” 

In a dainty blue velvet case lay a lovely little gold 
bangle, and on a card with it was neatly printed: 

To 

the nicest Captain that ever was, 

From 


BRONTE. 


















